


if you were mine

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: Riza has been working on the unit for close to a year when she starts to wonder whether Colonel Mustang’s interest in her is more than professional.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 123
Kudos: 309





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Natalie. For introducing me to Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, and in turn, Roy/Riza, and in turn, writing fanfiction again - and being able to discover a sense of joy and passion I haven't felt in years. And also, for being a great friend.

Riza has been working on the unit for close to a year when she starts to wonder whether Colonel Mustang’s interest in her is more than professional.

It’s a tricky question. Her position as his adjutant and bodyguard shows a level of trust between them that is as personal as it is professional. Personal connections and relationships should have no room in the military - but at the same time, of course their relationship is more than professional. That is inevitable. They have known one another since they were teenagers; even spent three years living together while he had been her father’s apprentice. Roy had been her closest friend, then, back when he was just Roy.

They had gone to New Year’s celebrations in town together. Roy had taught her how to dance, she had taught him how to cook, and they had a little book club together when neither were occupied with their studies. Years later, she had entrusted him with the secrets of her father’s alchemy, and he had inspired her to enlist in the military academy. They served together in Ishval. Neither of them has forgotten any of that long history. How could they?

They keep to the appropriate boundaries regardless. Riza only ever refers to him as Colonel Mustang, and he follows her lead. Their working relationship as colonel and adjutant necessitates that they are close, even more so than the other members of the unit. Falman, Breda, Fuery, and Havoc all operate independently or in small groups as their operations demand, but she is almost always by Colonel Mustang’s side. All day, every day. Often into the evenings as well. And lately, Riza has been wondering whether Colonel Mustang has been taking advantage of that fact. 

The first reason for her suspicion is that working together after hours happens more than it should. Colonel Mustang works at a snail’s pace during the day, but when the clock strikes six in the evening and everyone else leaves headquarters, he is a man transformed. Suddenly sharp, alert, working with alacrity on a dozen different tasks - and needing her help on every one of them. 

“I finished the Hielscher case report. Do you have the preliminary reports about the developing situation in Limeton for me to review?” he asks her, one evening in early October, as she enters their office. “Also, has there been any progress in finding soldiers to testify in the Schwartz court martial case?”

“Yes, and yes,” Riza replies, unloading an armful of paperwork onto his desk. “I’m glad you finished the case report, though I will say that could have easily been done this morning between your meetings.” ”

Colonel Mustang leans back in his chair and stretches, sighing with satisfaction. “You know I do my best work at night, Lieutenant.”

Riza ignores the joke, taking the completed case report off his desk and looking through it. It had been completed in painstaking detail. “How long are you planning on maintaining this farce of incompetence during regular work hours, Colonel? Surely others must have seen through it by now, considering the quality of work you actually produce and your accomplishments.”

“They assume that I simply take credit for the work you and everyone else on the team do,” he replies happily. “And now,” - he picks up the phone and looks expectantly at her. “May I interest you in dinner?”

Riza eats dinner with him at least a few days a week, takeout in the office. These long days are exhausting, but Colonel Mustang doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems oddly cheerful on the evenings they work late together - upbeat and chipper, sometimes whistling to himself as he works.

Every night, he helps her put her coat on, and Riza wonders whether she imagines his fingers lingering on her shoulders. He drives her home, even though she insists that she can walk; that it will be good to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the office all day. 

Riza takes Hayate out for his twice-daily walk afterwards. And even though she should savor her short twelve hours away from work and Colonel Mustang, she can’t get him and his odd behavior out of her mind. 

-

Their unit goes out for drinks and dinner every other Friday after work at Blomgren’s, the bar at the end of the street, and Rebecca often joins them. It’s been a year and a half since Ishval, but the memories still weigh heavy in Riza’s mind. These Friday nights, and her quiet weekends with Hayate and Rebecca, are a welcome escape. She doesn’t deserve this respite, not after everything she had done in Ishval, but she still guiltily enjoys shedding her uniform in favor of civilian clothes, even swapping out her earrings to something a little more fun and a little less professional. 

Every other Friday, when the unit piles into a booth, Colonel Mustang always ends up by her side. There’s so little space that despite Riza’s attempts to keep a respectful distance, they end up pressed together from hip to knee, shoulder to wrist. She can feel the material of his clothes and the warmth of the skin underneath, the strength of him, pressed against the stretches of skin on her legs and arms revealed by her skirt and sleeveless blouse.

Colonel Mustang laughs and jokes with everybody and seems completely unfazed by their proximity. Like he doesn’t even notice it, despite the fact that they seem to end up in a position like this every time they go out with the team. 

Riza sips her drink, trying to focus on her friends’ conversation, but she can’t help but speculate. Her thoughts turn in the predictable ways they have been doing lately. The late nights, the proximity. The way Colonel Mustang always seems to glance at her first after he makes another one of his jokes or witty comments. 

Across from her, Rebecca directs a subtle look at her and raises an eyebrow, nodding along to Falman’s story about his landlord from hell. 

Riza lifts a shoulder a fraction of an inch. 

_He’s definitely doing this on purpose, Riza._

_Honestly, I have no idea._

Rebecca gives her a flatly skeptical expression so blatant that Riza has to cough to remind her of the code. 

Colonel Mustang offers to drive them home afterward, since he’s giving everyone else a ride anyway. “We’ll walk,” Riza says, and she offers her team a small smile. “Rebecca’s staying the night at my place. Besides, I need some intelligent conversation after spending the last twelve hours with you all.”

She and Rebecca wave them off and head in the direction of her apartment. “Okay,” Rebecca declares, the second Colonel Mustang’s car disappears around the corner. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

Riza covers her face with her hand. It feels warm. “Nothing’s going on,” she says.

“Nothing’s going on?” Rebecca asks incredulously. “He asks you to _work late_ with him every single week. Sometimes more than once a week.” 

“We _do_ work,” Riza insists. “There’s nothing salacious happening in the office, I promise you."

"I bet you wish there was," Rebecca mutters, and dodges the elbow Riza sends her way. “And tonight--”

“We sat next to each other, like you and Havoc did.”

Rebecca snorts. “Havoc doesn’t mysteriously appear by my side every time we’re about to sit down. He doesn’t buy all of my drinks. He doesn’t check me out when he thinks nobody is watching, and he doesn’t smirk like a cat that got into the cream when I smile at his smartass jokes.” 

Riza tilts her face up, grateful for the cool night breeze on her flushed skin. “When you say it like that...”

Rebecca looks at her curiously. “Why do you sound so disappointed?” she asks. “You told me about the way you felt about Mustang, growing up. You should be jumping for joy that he’s clearly interested in you. Don’t you want to be with him now?”

Riza keeps her eyes straight ahead. “My wants have no place in this.”

“Don’t give me that, Ri.” 

Riza sighs. “There’s just no place for it, Rebecca. It could have happened when we were teenagers, before he joined the military, or if I hadn’t enlisted. But now he’s my commanding officer. There’s the anti-fraternization regulations. And we’re working towards things that are more important than any petty, personal wants or desires. Nothing can stand in the way of that.”

“Sure,” Rebecca says, sounding unconvinced.

“Enough about me.” Riza nudges her. “What happened on your date with Rikert? Were you able to get over that mustache?”

“It’s funny you ask…”

-

Riza tries extra hard to maintain professional boundaries with Colonel Mustang after that. She skips Friday night team dinners twice in a row. She refuses to let herself think about him at all after work hours (especially at night, in bed). She redirects herself to mentally disassembling and reassembling different models of guns whenever she catches herself admiring anything about his personality in a way that strays too far from the platonic admiration and devotion their entire team has for him. 

“Can Catalina or anyone else on the team look after Hayate this weekend?” Colonel Mustang asks casually, driving her home one Tuesday after a late night at the office. “I’d like you to accompany me on an undercover mission to Maastritcht. There’s an information broker there that I’d prefer to meet in person.”

Riza glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She opens her mouth and then closes it, reconsidering her instinctive denial. Damn him. As his bodyguard, she can’t refuse to go with him, or suggest another member of the team step in for her on this assignment. Colonel Mustang keeps his eyes on the road ahead, his demeanor casual, but she is sure he knows that as well as she does.

“Rebecca’s visiting her parents this weekend, but Havoc will be able to watch Hayate,” she says shortly, glancing out of the window, taking in the yellow light from the streetlamps as they pool on the dark roads. “Do you think this is a good idea, sir?”

“Of course it is,” Colonel Mustang replies blithely. “I really should meet this man in person. Not everyone is as adept at speaking in code over the telephone as we are.”

Riza takes a deep breath, willing herself to be patient. If this was any other man, she’d snap at him to cut the crap _._ “That’s not what I mean, sir.”

“Oh?” They come to a stop in front of her apartment, and Colonel Mustang parks the car and turns to look at her. “What do you mean, then?”

There is a challenge in his eyes, and Riza suddenly feels exhausted. She can’t have this discussion, this fight, now. She has already had it with herself too often, and she can’t face it with him now. Roy (back when he was just Roy) always knew what to say to push her buttons, crack through her stoic facade, out-logic her logic. “Nothing, sir,” she says, leaning over and grabbing her bag from the floor beneath her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

-

Riza leaves work on Friday, collects her things and Hayate, and drops her smallest friend off at Havoc’s apartment. Jean is in high spirits, crowing about how hanging around the park with such a cute pup will definitely help him collect a lot of phone numbers from the ladies. 

“I know he’ll be in good hands with you,” Riza says, giving Hayate a scratch behind the ears. “But no ice cream for him this time, okay? Now he begs for it shamelessly whenever Rebecca and I stop for a cone.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Havoc grins. “And hey, you and the Colonel be safe up there in Maastritcht, all right?”

Riza nods. “Of course. We’ll be back late Sunday night.”

“I’d say you know you can call us if you need backup, but I know that the Colonel won’t need backup since he’s with you.” 

Riza smiles and bids them farewell. As she departs, she spares a moment for gratitude that nobody on the team is at all questioning of the closeness that she and Colonel Mustang share. Not a single one of them has ever made any sort of comment, question, or innuendo about their relationship or the amount of time that they spend together. Colonel Mustang really had picked not just the best soldiers, but the best men, to serve on his team. 

She stops in at a deserted public restroom near the train station and assumes her disguise. A colorful scarf wrapped loosely around her head, hiding the distinctive haircut, and long, dangling earrings. Glasses. A suede skirt, cream-colored sweater, dark tights and coat, and boots that come up to her knees. She looks different enough from Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye in her blue military uniform, and not as different as she’d like from Riza Hawkeye in her civilian clothes. Undercover operations are the only time she wishes that she were an alchemist. Changing her hair color and length would be a blessing.

Riza finds Colonel Mustang at the train station, at Gate C15, just as they had discussed earlier. There’s only a few other people at the gate. Two elderly ladies and a middle-aged man in a battered jacket, frowning at a newspaper. Riza glances them over quickly, discreetly, assessing and analyzing. She judges their clothing and possessions for the ability to conceal hidden weapons, their body language, facial expressions, demeanor, physical fitness for combat.They aren’t spies, she determines after a moment, and her shoulders relax somewhat. 

Colonel Mustang smiles slightly at her reaction as she approaches. Of course he had noticed her risk assessment. He has pointed out to her before, in a way both teasing and admiring, about how she does that every single time she enters a space, whether it’s a train station, a park, or a cafe. He is dressed in civilian clothes, like her. 

“You look nice, Elizabeth,” he greets, stepping close and pressing a kiss to her cheek, as any lover would do. 

Riza rests a hand on his chest, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. Spice and citrus, as familiar to her as the scent of her firearm polish. “You as well, Rhys.” 

They have played this a few times before. It feels different now, after the undercurrents that have swirled around and between them for the past several weeks. At least, it does to her. 

Colonel Mustang steps back, though he’s still rather close to her. “Ready for this weekend?” he asks, and then grins. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Riza replies dryly. “Remind me when and where we’re meeting our friend tomorrow?” 

“Noon, for a walk in Arnsberg Park.” Colonel Mustang glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m hoping that Russell then introduces us to that other friend of his I mentioned. We’ll encourage him to do so, anyway.”

Arnsberg Park… It hadn’t been her first choice for a meeting location. Too open and insecure. Countless opportunities for this Russell person to hide his colleagues in the forested area around the park and attempt to ambush them. To reassure herself, Riza immediately catalogues the weaponry she had brought along. 1873 Buntline Target in her purse, Akdal Ghost TR-01 and Alfa-Proj Model 3520 in her bag, knife in her left boot, Colt Detective Special in her right. 

Colonel Mustang bursts out laughing. “I think the _encouragement_ won’t involve what you have in mind, Elizabeth.”

Riza feels her face warm slightly. “How did you know?”

Colonel Mustang taps his forehead. “Oh, you get this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes when you think about your favorite things,” he says. “Just like a woman in love.”

“Similar to the look you get when you’re supposed to be working, but you’re thinking about going out drinking with Colonel Hughes and then toilet-papering senior leaderships’ houses afterwards?”

“...Yes.” 

Riza sighs. “It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“Really, Elizabeth,” Colonel Mustang sniffs. “It’ll be the most fun we’ve had in a long while. I promise you that.”

-

The train ride to Maastritcht takes them two and a half hours north. Riza reads a novel, the latest in _The Cases of Eddie Drake_ series. Breda had lent her the first book in the series last year, and she had read the next six in a matter of months. Colonel Mustang sits beside her and reads over her shoulder, claiming that he can’t work in a moving train because it gives him motion sickness. ( _"Rhys, that is obviously a lie. You’re reading right now.”)_

It is dark and snowing when they disembark. Thankfully, the snow isn’t as heavy nor is the air as cold as it is in Briggs. Maastritcht is a truly tiny town that reminds Riza of where she had grown up. She looks around, committing the streets and shops around them to memory, forming a mental map. She is so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice Colonel Mustang take her arm at first. 

Riza glances up at him. “You’re restricting my movement in case of an emergency, Rhys.” 

The colonel scoffs. “As if you wouldn’t be able to shake me off and arm yourself in an instant. Besides…” He gestures to the empty streets. “I think chances are low that there will be an emergency.”

Riza doesn’t shrug him off. His warmth is welcome on this cold night. And it feels good to be walking with him like this. For a little while, she can pretend. _They_ can pretend. 

For the first time, she divorces herself from her discomfort at this situation and thinks of it through Colonel Mustang’s - Roy’s - eyes. If he does have feelings for her… To content himself with takeout dinners while working late, the contact of sitting close to one another in a crowded booth while out to dinner with their colleagues, the brief moments of intimacy while on an undercover mission… 

These must be small, hollow comforts for him. Scraps, to someone who longs for a meal. Despite the confusion and frustration she’s felt over the last several weeks, her heart goes out to him.

Riza holds his arm a little tighter, ignoring the voice in her head that warns her that she is playing a dangerous game. 

They reach their inn a little while later. It is small and plain and smells faintly of cabbage. Still, Riza breathes a sigh of relief at being inside from the cold, blowing on her hands to warm them as Colonel Mustang picks up the key to their upstairs room from the front desk. 

“I hope it’s warmer in our room,” he says. “I know that we’re quite far north, but this is unseasonably cold.”

“At least it’s not as bad as Briggs.” 

“Of course it’s not, since General Armstrong isn’t here.” Colonel Mustang shudders. “That terrifying woman… I’m so glad our Major Armstrong has a more amiable personality.”

“I think she’s an inspiring leader,” Riza defends. “And she gave me a few valuable lessons in hand-to-hand combat.” 

Colonel Mustang opens the door to their room and flicks on the light, and Riza trails off as they enter. The tiny size of the room doesn’t give her pause, or the threadbare covers and rug. The single bed does.

“Oh,” Colonel Mustang says, lost for words for once in his life, as he shuts the door behind them. “Well, I can sleep on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” Riza says briskly, recovering. “You’re my commanding officer. I’m happy to give the bed to you.”

“That wouldn’t be chivalrous of me at all.” The colonel shrugs off his coat and drops his bag to the ground, placing the room keys on the battered nightstand beside the door. “I suppose we’ll have to share, then.” 

Riza can’t help but shoot a suspicious glance his way, and Colonel Mustang raises his hands as if to defend himself. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, Elizabeth.”

“The things I would do to you, if they wouldn’t be considered insubordination…” Riza mutters. 

Colonel Mustang grins, and Riza has to shove her hands into her pockets to keep from punching him in the arm. “You know what I meant!” 

“Regrettably, I do.” Colonel Mustang rolls his eyes. “Every now and then when I do dishes, I still remember you splashing the dirty dishwater at me as retaliation for making some bad joke or another.” 

“You deserved it. Every time. And you still do.” 

They should wash up and go to bed. They’re on an assignment for work, after all. Besides, she should take Colonel Mustang to the park well before their noon meeting time to scope it out. Instead Riza sits down beside him on the bed, and they reminisce until he falls asleep, leaning back against the headboard, fully clothed.

Riza eases him down into a more comfortable position, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back, and draws the comforter around him. It’s all so intimate, but this isn’t the first time that she’s tucked Colonel Mustang into bed. This is, however, the first time he’s been sober. 

She looks down at him. He frowns in his sleep as he usually does, lines appearing on his forehead. Riza reaches down and smooths them away, a feather-light touch. She remembers herself, then, and jerks back, as if burned. 

She gets ready for bed as quietly as possible and lies down with her back to Colonel Mustang, her hands pressed underneath her pillow. Even though she is exhausted, even though her work day had started seventeen hours ago, it takes an eternity for her to fall asleep.

-

The operation the next day goes flawlessly. Russell is an excellent information broker, and he introduces them to one of his colleagues. Best of all, the two of them seem trustworthy enough, and nothing untoward happens.

After the meeting, both of them return to their room in the inn. They sit down on the bed, facing one another, and begin to work. 

Riza prefers exact transcriptions of conversations, as they are valuable to review after the fact and spot inconsistencies or untruths, while Colonel Mustang prefers detailed summaries. Honed after years of practice and lessons with Falman, Riza’s memory allows her to more or less transcribe the entire conversation. She does so, reciting the words softly to herself as she writes fast, in the secret shorthand their unit had developed. As she talks, he summarizes, adding notes and action items for when they return to East City and next time work takes them to Central. 

Though she’s no stranger to this kind of work, by the time they’re finished, Riza’s mouth is dry and her hands ache. She massages her writing hand. “Done,” she says. 

“We’ll have a lot of interesting leads to pursue next time we’re in Central,” Colonel Mustang replies. His gaze lingers on her hands. “Have I overworked you, Elizabeth?”

“Never. Though I wouldn’t turn down something to drink.”

Colonel Mustang stands and offers her a hand. “I’ll do you one better and get dinner for us.” 

Night had fallen while they had been at work, but at least the bar is just a couple of streets away. It’s small, dimly lit, smoky, and crowded, though they find a small booth at the back. Riza is torn, as she always is in a crowded area. More people means more potential threats to assess. But the many intermingling conversations and raised voices around them, and the music playing from a gramophone nearby, ensures privacy and the ability to speak without being overheard, within reason. 

She leans back into the booth, looking around at their surroundings, identifying potential emergency exits, until Colonel Mustang arrives. He holds a couple of beers and their food, having some difficulty balancing it all. “Sorry, they didn’t have your preferred drinks,” he says, setting the items down on the table and sliding in beside her. “But I thought this would make up for it.”

Riza brightens, leaning over their food and taking a deep breath in. They hadn’t had lunch due to the noon meeting with the broker, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. “Chicken pot pie,” she says. “Just like we used to do for New Year’s.”

“I know we’re a couple of months early,” Colonel Mustang says, passing her a fork. “But it seemed appropriate, considering our conversation yesterday.” 

“It’s perfect.”

They dig into the pie, and when it’s finished, Colonel Mustang raises his glass to her. “To a successful weekend away,” he says, giving her the smile that always makes her melt. “Thank you for accompanying me, Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Rhys.” Riza clinks her glass against his, and curses herself for the could-be-construed-as-flirtatious reply. This is why she hates going undercover with him. 

She expects some sort of smart comment from him in reply. Instead, Colonel Mustang takes a long draft of his beer, and sets the glass down on the splintering table somewhat harder than necessary. “I went on a date last weekend,” he says, staring down into the glass. 

“I know,” Riza replies, slightly thrown by the non sequitur. “You came over to my place afterwards and insisted that I help you with the notes.” He had brought her food, too - an extra steak and salad, and piece of tiramisu, from the restaurant where he and Camilla had met.

“Yeah.” Colonel Mustang runs a hand through his hair. “I focused as best as I could. It was basically a work meeting, after all. But there was this one moment, where I was distracted - and I realized I hadn’t been on a real date in years. Not since before Ishval.”

Riza nods. “It’s been the same for me,” she confesses, and Colonel Mustang looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She has the feeling that he’s surprised, but pleased, to hear it. 

“There’s just no time,” he says.

“Yes,” Riza agrees, guarded. “There’s no time for it at all.”

“Besides, it wouldn’t feel right.” Colonel Mustang takes a deep breath, and turns to face her.

“Sir,” Riza whispers, slipping out of their cover, hoping the reminder of her station and his will be enough to derail him. Her shoulders tense. “Please don’t.” 

“Getting to know someone,” Colonel Mustang begins, ignoring her. “Is like learning a new language, or starting out on a long journey. Don’t you think so? There’s so much to learn about them. There’s so much _they_ have to learn about you.”

“Rhys--” 

“I think of starting from the beginning, with someone, and it doesn’t feel right,” he says. There’s a slightly pained look on his face. “Not when there’s someone who already knows me so well, that _I_ know so well. Someone I can read just by looking into her eyes. Noticing the way she’s standing or the expression on her face.”

“You have to,” Riza says, in a hushed voice. 

“I can’t,” Colonel Mustang says tersely. “How could I try to form another relationship with a clear conscience, when I compare every woman to you, and find them lacking in every way?”

Riza swallows over her dry throat, suddenly lost for words. He takes advantage of that, and places his hand on hers - her fingers tightly interlaced in front of her - and she almost jumps. “Your intelligence, skill, compassion, empathy, loyalty, devotion,” Colonel Mustang continues quietly, and a fraction of a smile touches his lips. “Your looks. Damn it, Elizabeth, I trust you with my life, to always look out for me, and I know you have the same trust in me. How is anybody else supposed to compete with that?”

Riza pulls her hands away. “Find a way,” she says, blinking away angry tears. Damn him for doing this to her, for putting both of them in this position. 

“The reason I’ve been so bold with you is because I believe you share my feelings. Do you?” he presses. “If you don’t, I’ll never say a word about this again. We’ll pretend it never happened.”

She should lie, but she’s never been able to lie to him. Besides, lying goes against their code of conduct with one another. “Yes,” Riza whispers bitterly. “I do.” 

Colonel Mustang studies her with that intense, unblinking stare he fixes on problems that must be solved. “Then can you tell me, honestly, that you believe what you were just saying earlier? That you’d be completely unaffected by another woman being as important a part of my life as you are?”

Riza averts her eyes, refusing to answer. Colonel Mustang sighs. “I know that I would loathe it, if I had a rival for your time, attention, emotions… Just the thought actually drives me insane.”

Riza tilts her head back, willing the tears to stop welling in her eyes. She had dreamed of Roy confessing his feelings to her for a good part of her teenage years. This is coming years too late. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, re-focusing on the present. “Whatever we feel for each other. The anti-fraternization law prevents us from becoming involved on any level more than the professional. Even more so because you’re my commanding officer - you’d be court-martialed and I’d be dishonorably discharged.” 

“Yes,” Colonel Mustang says. “If we’re caught.”

Riza stares at him, aghast. “You’re not saying…”

He leans back against the booth, trying to affect his usual, casual posture, but she can see how tense his shoulders are, the white in his knuckles as he grips his glass. “I am,” he replies. 

Riza shakes her head. “The consequences are too severe. They would shatter the goal we’ve committed ourselves to.”

Colonel Mustang actually smirks a little. “Then we just have to avoid getting caught, don’t we?”

“I can’t believe you’re being so cavalier about this, sir,” Riza hisses, her voice barely audible over the music still playing and the conversations around them.

The levity fades from the colonel’s expression. “If you knew how many hours, how many sleepless nights, I’ve spent thinking about this, you wouldn’t throw such an unjust accusation at me.”

They stare at each other, at an impasse. “I won’t settle for less than you,” Colonel Mustang says softly, finally. “I refuse to. And you and I are going to be by one another’s sides for the long term. Years. Decades. We can’t keep dancing around this and contenting ourselves with half measures. Neither of us will be truly happy. And neither of us will be truly happy with someone else.”

“That’s part of the reason why I’m so concerned,” Riza murmurs. “I’ve committed to serve by your side until you reach your goal--”

“And after I’ve attained it.”

“It could take years, or decades, as you’ve said.” Riza pauses. “If we begin--” she whispers, almost shuddering at how tawdry it sounds, how unlike her, “--an affair, and it ends, especially if it ends poorly - that jeopardizes the working relationship that is so precious to us, that we value so much.” 

“Ah, Elizabeth.” To her surprise, Colonel Mustang - Roy, there’s no point in continuing to think of him only as Colonel Mustang now that he’s smashed the barriers she had put up so thoroughly - smiles tenderly at her. “I don’t think we have to worry about that.” 

It takes her a moment to catch his meaning, and when she does, she blushes. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.” 

“Well, yes. Have you met me?” Roy puts his hand on hers again. This time, Riza can’t bring herself to pull away. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he says quietly. “No matter what you may think, I haven’t deluded myself about any of this. There will be a lot that we have to worry about. It will be very difficult. It won’t look like a normal relationship. But _that_ is one thing you don’t have to be concerned about.” **  
**

Riza stares at their hands on the table, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what has happened tonight. Her insides literally ache with turmoil. _Don’t,_ every sensible part of her is screaming. It’s her job to keep Roy out of trouble, after all. He might be hurt if she turns him down now, but it will be for the best.

If they go through with this, it will be a terrible and unnecessary complication in her life. In _both_ of their lives. It is just asking for disaster. It’s unprofessional. She had been the most accomplished student in her year at the academy; she’s the best sniper in the country. She is not the kind of officer that screws her commander. 

Riza closes her eyes, feeling the weight of Roy’s eyes on her, trying to block out the rest of the distractions and stimulation around her. 

It’s the lyrics coming through the gramophone that crumble her resolve, longing and plaintive, a repeated refrain, _if you were mine--_

Riza opens her eyes, takes Roy by the lapels of his coat, pulls him close, and kisses him. 

They had shared kisses every New Year, when she had been fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. Every year, they would walk into town to attend the celebration and watch the fireworks. She still remembers it like it was yesterday; that first year, standing in the crowd, suddenly surrounded by laughing children and kissing couples. 

_I guess it’s some kind of tradition._

_For good luck,_ Roy had replied, and before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her. 

They never kissed again, or talked about it, until the next year’s celebrations. The same was true in the year after that. Every kiss had been a little longer than the year before. There was the unspoken understanding between them that it was inappropriate. Her father would have been enraged if he found out, and would have ended Roy’s apprenticeship. Even back then, though, when she knew so little and had just been an inexperienced girl, it felt _right._ Natural. Perfect, for all of those few, fleeting moments. She had never wanted it to stop. 

It feels just as right now, but different. 

Instead of holding back, Roy makes a small, involuntary sound against her lips and reaches out, running his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head in his hand, and the touch makes Riza shiver. He kisses her hard, hungrily, like he’s finally getting something he had been starved of. She unclasps her hands from his coat, flattening her palms and running them up to his shoulders. It feels surreal, to be touching him like this, to feel the warmth of his mouth on hers, the strength of his shoulders underneath her hands. It feels amazing and surreal that it is happening in real life, after all the countless times she’s spent dreaming about it. 

Riza presses her hands against his chest, gently pushing him back. “I think we should leave,” she says quietly, in response to the question in his eyes.

Roy smiles at her. “You’re always full of good ideas, Elizabeth.”

They leave the bar hand-in-hand, and it feels so good to do that openly. Riza has no illusions that this can never happen when they’re back home and back to their normal lives. She savors the warmth of Roy’s hand in hers.

It’s snowing hard outside, the snowflakes powdering their coats within moments, standing out sharply against Roy’s dark hair. He looks at her, and then actually stops in the middle of the road, cups her face in both of his hands, and kisses her again. 

“What was that for?” Riza asks, breathless, when they emerge from the embrace.

“Do I need a reason?” 

“Yes. We shouldn’t be so frivolous.”

Roy laughs at her straight-faced retort. “It doesn’t snow in East City or Central,” he points out. “And we don’t go to Briggs often. I figured I should kiss you in the snow while we have the chance.”

Riza sighs, but she can’t keep the smile off her face. “You’re such a romantic.”

They stop every half block to steal kisses. Briefly, they stumble into an alleyway, Riza’s hands firm as she pushes him against the stone wall. They dart back out just as quickly when a fox trots from the depths of the alley, emanating a series of disturbing, shrieking calls, which makes Roy yelp and jump half into Riza’s arms. 

The inn’s front desk is empty. After looking back and forth to see if there is anyone else in the vicinity, Roy sweeps her up into his arms. 

“Do you see a fox?” Riza asks, nudging him in the side. “You know, I can still walk.” 

Roy frowns down at her with mock seriousness. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time--”

Riza feels a momentary thrill at the fact that she hadn’t been the only one who has wanted this for so long. “Undoubtedly, while you were supposed to be working.”

“Irrelevant,” Roy says nonchalantly. “Now, my dear Elizabeth, let me live out the fantasy properly.”

“As you wish, Rhys.”

Roy carries her back to their room, unlocks the door, and Riza kisses him as he gently sets her back on her feet. She feels a vague sensation of surprise that she isn’t nervous at all, even though she’s never done this before. And she isn’t nervous about tomorrow morning. There is no fear of awkwardness, of things between them being ruined. She trusts him, them, with that, with the same certainty that they trust each other with everything. 

“Riza,” Roy murmurs, sliding her coat off, caressing the curve of her waist, her hips. But it’s the sound of her name on his lips that makes her gasp. “No titles. No cover names. Not here. Please.” 

“Roy,” Riza whispers, testing it out on her lips, and in her mind. The lines, the boundaries, were already blurred. After tonight, they will be broken beyond repair. 

She locks the door with a soft _click._

-

_When you guys eventually hook up, are you afraid that it won’t live up to your expectations?_

_That will never happen, Rebecca._

_Okay, fine. If you guys ever hook up, are you afraid that it won’t live up to your expectations? Since you’ve wanted it for so long?_

_...I’ve never thought about that._

_You know, I can tell when you’re lying to me._

_I wasn’t lying. I meant that I never even considered that it wouldn’t be what I imagined._

_Oh, Riza. You’ve got it so bad._

-

Sex feels just as right as having Roy’s back, as working with him, as kissing him. In so many ways, the course of her life has shifted in parallel to his. Growing up, she had always assumed she would become a teacher, but then she had enlisted in the military academy because of his vision of protecting the people of Amestris as a soldier. Continued serving after the horror of Ishval because of him. Working by his side has shaped her entire professional career and adult life. 

_The famous Hawk’s Eye. I heard you’ve turned down two promotions in favor of staying on Mustang’s team,_ General Armstrong said, when they had met, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. _Such devotion._

It feels natural to share this with him, as well. 

-

They linger over breakfast the next morning at Maastricht’s sole, small cafe. Roy holds her hand the entire time. Both of them have to eat their eggs and bacon one-handed, which is ridiculous, but Riza doesn’t complain. They look into each other’s eyes and neither of them has to say that this kind of openness won’t, can’t, happen again. 

* * *

_to be_ _continued_

* * *

******  
**

Any comments or thoughts would be very much appreciated. :)


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who left kudos and a comment on the previous chapter. I loved reading your comments! Each one absolutely made my day. :)

Riza goes home from work on the Monday evening after she and Colonel Mustang return from their undercover assignment in Maastricht. She walks Hayate and cooks dinner, trying a new stew recipe Rebecca had raved about, and then settles on the sofa with this month’s issue of _Guns & Ammo _and Hayate at her side. 

Everything has felt a little surreal since returning from Maastricht late last night. She had fantasized about it for so many years that now that it’s happened, it’s somehow surreal, dreamlike. She keeps expecting to wake up. Reading will help ground her, and she has been looking forward to this issue, featuring a long-awaited review of the Winchester Wildcat.

Riza is halfway into the review of the semi-automatic rifle when she hears a familiar knock on the door. Three short raps, two in quick succession and the last after a pause of exactly four seconds. 

Her eyes widen, and she sits up straight, setting the magazine aside, as Hayate yips. She opens the door and pulls her visitor in quickly, casting looks down both sides of the hallway to make sure that none of her neighbors are out and about.

“Don’t worry,” Roy says, shrugging his coat off and throwing it on the rack near the door. “The building’s empty tonight. And I wasn’t followed.”

Riza sighs, relieved. “Good.”

He tilts her face up to his and kisses her, long and slow, and Riza’s knees almost weaken. She will never get used to this. She never wants to get used to this. Yet, it’s just a little jarring, considering that five hours ago, they were in the office together and he had been leading a unit meeting about how to ensnare one of East City’s crime kingpins. 

Roy pulls back and gives her that signature look of his - so very perceptive, like he had just read her thoughts. “How are you feeling?” he asks. 

“Fine,” Riza says, taking his hand and leading him to the sofa. 

He sits close beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She nestles into him, relishing the intimacy. “Really?” 

“Really,” she repeats. “I’ve always been able to compartmentalize. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I do,” Roy says, as if that should be obvious. “You’re my subordinate, and my girlfriend. It’s my job to look out for you.”

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch the last part.”

“You’re my subordinate and my girlfriend, and so it’s my job to--” Roy begins, and then heaves a sigh when he catches the small smile on her face. 

“Sorry,” Riza says. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s just so… wholesome, considering the words I’ve been using when I think of it.”

Roy looks down at her. “Don’t let this impact the way you think of yourself, Riza,” he says sharply. “This doesn’t make you any less of an officer or a professional.”

“How can it not?” She hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s drilled into all of our heads from day one of the academy. Don’t fuck your coworkers, but _especially_ don’t fuck your commanding officer or your subordinates.”

Roy winces at the reminder. “I know,” he says. “I reconciled that by reminding myself that there was no coercion, and that I’m not the one who makes decisions about you getting promoted. And I know that I won’t give you preferential treatment, because I also know that this isn’t going to change any of the work you - or we - do.”

Riza leans against him. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

“Always,” he says simply, stroking her hair. “Always.”

“It is good that you came over, though,” Riza says. “I’ve been wondering how this is going to work.”

“Oh?”

“We need to set procedures.” She looks longingly at the pen and notebook on the coffee table. “It goes against everything in me as your adjutant to not write them down and keep a record of it. We’ll have to rely on our memories.” 

“Of course.” Roy glances at her thoughtfully. “I came in through the service entrance of your building today. Let’s continue to do that.”

“Good. And we’ll always be in civilian clothes, of course.”

Roy looks over at his black overcoat and frowns. “I’ll have to get a few more. We should avoid repeating any distinguishing articles of clothing, like coats, scarves, hats, and so on.” 

“Good thought,” Riza says approvingly. “Any other ideas?”

“Meetings no more than thrice a week, never on consecutive days,” Roy says reluctantly. “And never before nine at night. We need to be sure that we’re not followed by anyone on foot or in a vehicle. If there’s any suspicion of being tailed, we should go back to our own place and stay there for the rest of the night.” 

Riza hesitates, considering. “We shouldn’t stay the entire night when we’re together, either. We should leave well before dawn. Maybe four in the morning, at the absolute latest. The last thing we need is for anyone to see us leaving each other’s place early in the morning. That’s even harder to explain away than a late night visit.” 

Roy takes her hand, rubbing it apologetically.

“And no meetings outside of our personal residences,” she presses on. “Parks, bars, restaurants, the theatre, all out of the question. If we’re associating anywhere outside of work, our unit has to be there.”

“Just what I need, more time with Havoc.” Roy stands and walks over to the window, pulling the shutters down with a snap, and Riza grimaces at their oversight. “Windows closed and shutters down,” he says. “We’ll both sweep our apartments for bugs or surveillance every other day, and especially before a meeting. I’ll check my car regularly as well. Have we missed anything?” 

“This should go without saying,” Riza says pointedly. “But absolutely no unprofessional behavior in the office, even when we’re alone after hours.”

Roy gives her a mournful look. “Fine.”

“Of course, we will act no differently at work or when socializing with the unit. That shouldn’t be a challenge.”

Roy comes back to the sofa and sits beside her. “Maes won’t learn about this, either,” he says. “And neither will Catalina. They can - and will, and probably do already, if your conversations with Catalina are anything like mine with Maes - speculate, but those suspicions will remain unconfirmed.” 

“They’re both trustworthy about any suspicions they might have, too.” 

They look at each other for several moments, the grim weight of the discussion sinking in. Riza remembers his words in Maastricht, the warning that _this won’t look like a normal relationship._ She hadn’t fully realized the extent of that statement then.

“This is all very unromantic,” Roy says, his shoulders slumping. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I’m sorry.” 

Riza leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Romance,” she says, “is overrated.” 

-

Riza remembers the learning curve when she had started working on the unit. 

The military academy had trained her to be a soldier, not an adjutant specifically, so the learning curve had been steep. Prior to starting her duties, she had studied every book on the role of the adjutant that she could find in the East City Command Library from cover to cover. Additionally, she had requested meetings and interviews with every other adjutant of every other high-ranking officer in East City, and taken pages upon pages notes from each meeting. 

She had prepared herself as best as she could. And despite her anxiety, she had marshaled every drop of her composure and been the consummate professional from her first day on the unit. 

At the end of her first week, she had mastered the typewriter. At the end of her first month, she had learned how to handle the massive quantity of administrative paperwork on her workload. At the end of her first quarter, she had learned the intricacies of the political and interpersonal relationships between every high-ranking officer stationed at East City Command. 

This isn’t so different. 

Riza learns several things in quick succession. 

She learns that sex feels different in her bedroom than it does in an inn two hours away from home. It feels safer, more familiar, comforting.

In her most private moments, alone in bed, stripping off her clothes and holding a pillow to her breasts, eyes closed, she had wondered what being with Roy would be like. If he would be gentle, tender, restrained, slow, teasing, flirtatious, serious, passionate… She’d had fantasies for every single possibility. She had wondered if she would ever have an answer to that question. 

Riza is fascinated to learn that the answer is all of the above, depending on the night and their moods. She wholeheartedly enjoys learning that she loves every one of them equally. She loves it when Roy pins her wrists above her head and presses slow kisses to the inside of her forearms. She loves straddling him on the sofa, kissing him hard, threading her fingers through his hair as he grips her hips tight. 

She had never fantasized about this, because years later, it is still a sore spot - figuratively, and literally, though only on particularly hot days. She learns that she even loves being facedown in bed, Roy running his fingertips gently up her spine, from the small of her ruined back, over her shoulder blades, to the nape of her neck. It makes her entire body tingle and shiver, makes her squirm and moan his name softly into the pillow beneath her. 

_Do you want me to stop_ ? Roy had asked at once, pulling back, his concern evident, and Riza had grabbed his hand and pulled it back to her. _Please don’t,_ she had said. _Please._

She likes it when he stays mostly dressed, because Roy is so devastatingly handsome in the formal clothes he likes so much. She likes it just as much when he pulls off his shirt, tossing it aside, so she can run her hands over the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest. Predictably, he prefers when she takes everything off, though he makes exceptions when she’s wearing a short skirt. 

Riza learns that Roy can be so enthusiastic that he borders on clumsy. _Passionate,_ he corrects, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom. _Not clumsy._ He kisses her so hard that they fall against walls in their apartments’ bedrooms and hallways (though he always cradles the back of her head in one hand so that she doesn’t bump it). She learns that Roy loves it when she nibbles on his ears and his neck, and she is surprised to learn that there’s nothing she likes better than when he trails his fingertips over her hips and stomach. 

She learns that she’s never enjoyed the sound of her name more than when he says it, breathed into her ear and nuzzled against it, or holding her tight in his arms, and he feels the same way. 

And Riza learns about contraceptives for the first time. She knew they existed, of course, but she’d never had the need to learn anything further. 

_My aunt recommends a tea called Queen Anne’s Lace for the ladies at the bar,_ Roy tells her, somewhat red-faced, and then thrusts a paper with notes at her. _I called her and asked for instructions on how to make it. She said to follow her instructions to the letter, and that we should call her if we have any issues getting the powder here. She’ll send it from Central. She has plenty._

Luckily, Riza finds that Amelia’s Apothecary on the far side of town sells Queen Anne’s Lace, powdered. Within a month, she becomes an expert at brewing it, though she never gets used to the bitter taste.

-

And the months slide effortlessly into a year, a span of time that feels like twice that. Between their history, their work, and their intimate relationship, their lives have never been more completely intertwined. It had happened so seamlessly, the transition - integration? - from colleagues and friends to lovers. 

Riza takes Hayate for walks and goes out with Rebecca on the weekends and in the evenings. Sometimes her gaze lingers on couples out to dinner, sitting at restaurant patios, holding hands. Sharing picnics at the park, walking together, going out for ice-cream dates, or to the theatre. 

Over time, those moments pile up. Moments of little things that make her wistful. Riza chides herself whenever it happens. She averts her eyes and redirects her thoughts. She knew what she was getting into at the start. 

She reminds herself of that every time Roy leaves in the middle of the night (kissing her thoroughly, apologetically). She reminds herself of that every morning she wakes up alone, and places a hand on the pillow that still smells faintly of Roy’s shampoo.

-

It is little comfort to know that Roy feels as bad about it as she does. He has always been generous with her, always buying her food and drinks long before they had begun their illicit relationship, but afterwards, he veers somewhat out of control.

The first thing he buys her is an enormous box of fancy dog treats for Hayate - a sweet gesture. Then comes an upgraded access card to the shooting range, and then a steady stream of firearm parts, polishes, cleaning tools, and other accessories. 

Then come boxes of gourmet coffee, tea, and honey. A set of fancy soaps, shampoos, and lotions that weighs almost as much as Hayate. A beautiful cream-colored utility coat that instantly becomes a new favorite. A pair of warm slippers, satin pajamas, a cloud-soft pink bathrobe, several blouses and skirts, a few new pairs of earrings. Under the veneer of smoothness, Roy looks almost imperceptibly anxious on the rare occasion that he gives her the gifts in person. Most of the time, he leaves them in her apartment while she’s out with Rebecca. 

“Thank you for bringing me those files about the 1865 unrest in South City,” Riza says quietly, one afternoon when it’s just the two of them in the office. “They were very interesting reading.”

She had gotten back from dinner with Rebecca last night to find the latest in the novel series she likes; _The Cases of Eddie Drake,_ sitting on her bed _._ The book had just been released a day ago. 

Colonel Mustang (she makes herself think of him as Colonel Mustang during work hours) looks pleased. “I’m glad you found it enlightening. I’d like to read through those files as soon as you’re finished.” 

“I did find it interesting.” Riza hesitates for just an instant. “With that being said, you don’t have to take the trouble of bringing me files from the library. I can always pick up or order files myself if I need them.”

Colonel Mustang rifles through some paperwork on his desk, making a noncommittal sound. “Don’t worry about it.”

Riza looks over at him. “I mean it, sir. There’s no need for you to go out of your way for me.” 

Colonel Mustang clears his throat. “It’s the least I can do for you, Lieutenant.” 

“Colonel, it’s really not necessary--”

“I ask a lot of you, Lieutenant. I know that.” Colonel Mustang’s tone brooks no argument. “So please let me do what little I can for you.” 

“...Thank you, sir.”

Breda, Havoc, Fuery, and Falman return from their lunch then, and Riza lets it drop. **  
**

-

Riza finds a blank memo on her desk one Friday morning, a few weeks later. 

She looks over at Colonel Mustang’s desk. He is leaning back in his chair, idly flipping through a report, looking bored out of his mind. 

Riza steps out for a break a couple of hours later and takes the memo with her, folded into a tiny square and tucked into her pocket. She locks herself into a stall in the ladies’ bathroom, pulls out a small lighter, and holds it to the paper. Not too close, but not too far. 

The heat triggers the special ink, and the words gradually appear before her, written in Colonel Mustang’s neat, precise handwriting. _Vollkar Overlook, past the fourth mile marker, ten p.m. Bring Hayate._

It’s a short message, and it takes no longer than an instant to commit it to memory. Riza burns the memo. 

She returns to the office and frowns at Colonel Mustang, who is now hunched over the report from earlier and appears to be doodling in the margins. He gives her an irrepressible smile. 

-

Riza takes a cab to Trettach Park and walks the thirty minutes to Vollkar Overlook from there, with Hayate by her side. She is grateful for the opportunity to practice their rarely used woodland concealment skills. She keeps vigilant as she walks, hyper-aware of any sound beyond the normal, expected ones, but she still has some mental space to wonder what Roy’s intentions for the memo had been. This could be a professional meeting, or a personal one. 

She gets her answer when they emerge from the tree line onto the grassy overlook. Riza blinks, startled, and Hayate barks, rushing forward to greet Roy. 

“I don’t know why you’re concerned about your stealth skills,” he says ruefully, bending to pet Hayate. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Good. I’m glad to know that we’ve made improvements.” Riza takes in the sight before her, astonished. A blanket spread out on the grass, with a small radio on top of it, and an assortment of fruits, fancy snacks, cheeses, chocolates, and wine. And even a rawhide bone for Hayate. The radio is playing a soft jazz station. “What is all this?”

“A date, obviously.” Roy wraps an arm around her, and then casts a baleful glance up at the sky. “It was intended to be a romantic _moonlight_ picnic, but the cloud cover isn’t cooperating.”

Riza steps away, looking nervously around them. The overlook is deserted, and Roy’s car is the only one parked on the road. “This is sweet of you, but it violates our procedures,” she says, hating it. “It’s not safe. Anyone could drive up, including a police patrol.” 

“I’ve staked it out every night at this time for the past few nights, and had the rest of the unit observe it at night for a week and a half before that. No one comes past the second mile marker. I figured just in case anyone does approach on foot, Hayate would sense it and alert us. And no police patrols will pass the second mile marker tonight, either.” Roy clears his throat. “I called in a favor.”

Riza looks at him, and then back at the picnic, touched by the effort, tempted, and torn. There’s a sudden lump in her throat at the idyllic normalcy of it all. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted this, how badly she craved some of that normalcy that other couples took so much for granted, until this moment. 

Roy puts a hand on her shoulder, sensing the conflict. “Please let me do this for you,” he says quietly. “Everything will be all right. I promise.” 

Riza finally, reluctantly nods, and he takes her hand, leading her to the blanket. 

They enjoy a long dinner, complete with an olive-throwing target practice exercise that ends with all of Riza’s olives making it into Roy’s mouth at increasingly impressive ranges. To compensate for his lack of aim with the olives, he feeds her the chocolate “like a normal boyfriend would.” It is the kind of indulgent, lovesick display she avoids looking at when passing by other couples at the park, and it feels incredible to engage in it. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Riza says, stroking her fingers through his hair. Roy is lying with his head in her lap, looking more relaxed than she’s seen him in a long while. She feels somehow lighter than she had before as well, temporarily freed from holding this secret so close to her heart. 

Roy sits up and then shrugs, flustered. “I should have done this much earlier. And I wish I could do more,” he says, after a pause. “Take you out to dinner properly, to the theatre, or the symphony. I hate that I can do that with other women, but not with you. It feels wrong.”

“We both know that it’s not genuine, though,” Riza says gently. “It’s a farce to gather information. Nothing more.” 

“I know, but _you_ deserve those nights,” Roy says, frustration creeping into his voice. “You deserve so much more than what I’ve been able to give you. A few gifts, takeout dinners, every time we see each other being in our apartments - I treat you like some of the senior staff treats their secret mistresses. I hate it.” 

Riza stares at him, surprised by the outburst; by the fact that he had voiced what she has thought in her darker moments. Roy averts his gaze from hers. “Sometimes I worry that you won’t put up with it for much longer,” he murmurs. “That you’ll realize that you would rather be with a man who doesn’t treat you like a dirty little secret.”

Riza reaches out, cupping his face with one hand, searching for the right words. “You talk about what you’ve been able to give me and what I deserve. What you’ve given me is a relationship with a man I love and trust more than anything,” she says firmly. “I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” 

Roy looks at her steadily. “I love you, Riza.” 

Riza smiles. “I love you too.” 

-

They board the six o’clock evening train from Resembool to East City in silence.

They sit next to each other, hand-in-hand. By the time the train arrives at the East City station, they will have moved to sit across from one another, the image of professionalism. 

Riza stares out the window at the rolling green hills and meadows that they pass, lost in thought. She feels a little sick to her stomach, a little nauseous. The events of the day keep replaying in her mind. What they had seen in the Elric home. Alphonse Elric, soul-bound to a massive suit of armor - that suit of armor speaking in the sweet, innocent voice of a young boy. Edward Elric, so young, but so broken, despondent. 

They were just children. 

She had remained professional and calm throughout, but it had shaken her, and even now, Riza’s eyes sting as she thinks back to it. She had been unprepared for the emotion she had felt at meeting the two boys; for the desire to draw both of them into her arms and tell them that everything would be all right.

“I’m glad that Edward seems interested in your offer,” she says. “It will be good for him to have structure, a sense of purpose, and some more positive figures in his life. I think that will save him from slipping into further despair.”

“Yeah,” Roy says. “Poor kid. Both of them.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you okay? Everything we saw at the Elric home, and Alphonse…”

Riza swallows. “It’s hard to take in,” she says, resting her head against his shoulder. “Just imagining the suffering they went through. They’ve been very brave.” 

They lapse into silence again, and Riza has some difficulty putting the children out of her mind. Edward, Alphonse, the young girl Winry. Even little Elicia comes to mind. She and Roy had visited Maes and Gracia in Central a couple of months ago. Gracia had made a lovely dinner, and afterwards, the four of them had sat and talked and she and Roy had taken turns holding Elicia. Elicia was sweet and agreeable, and Riza had been surprised by how strangely bittersweet it had felt to hold the toddler in her lap, wrapping her arms around her small body. And watching Roy hold Elicia afterwards, seeing the little girl smile and laugh at the silly voices that “Uncle Roy” did for her - that had been more bitter than sweet. 

It’s been almost six years, now. In another world, she and Roy would have been married years ago, with their own Elicia to hold. 

Of course, that isn’t possible, and won’t be for a very long time. Riza has reconciled herself to that. She doesn’t feel wistful at the idea of weddings anymore, or look twice at wedding dresses in boutique windows. But it’s only recently that this new realization has hit her - that there most likely won’t be a little dark-haired Elicia, or a little blonde boy like Edward, in their future.

She is twenty-five now and Roy is twenty-eight, and there is no telling how far he is from becoming Fuhrer and repealing the anti-fraternization regulations. It could be a decade, conservatively speaking. Optimistically speaking. More realistically, they are looking at fifteen years.

The idea of children of their own is another thing that she will have to let go of. 

Riza exhales slowly, trying to release some of the tightness in her chest. It doesn’t work. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Roy asks. “You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m fine.” Riza turns to him, attempting to distract herself. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about growing my hair out.”

Roy blinks. “It’ll be harder for me to run my fingers through if it’s long,” he says ruefully, and does just that, a lingering, tender touch. “It’s hard for me to imagine what you’ll look like. You’ve had it short since the day I met you.”

Riza thinks back to that day, to her relief at no longer being alone in that big house with her father, and smiles.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, though,” Roy says, squeezing her hand. “You always have been.” 

Riza nudges him in the side. “And you’ve always been charming to me, even as a seventeen-year-old apprentice.”

“Seventeen...” Roy sighs. “I was so young then.” 

“Barely twenty, when you enlisted,” Riza says, thinking about Edward Elric. “Edward is even younger. As a State Alchemist, he’ll be a major at thirteen.” 

“That will come with its fair share of challenges,” Roy muses. “He’ll struggle to fit in, on one level, and on another... I know you mentioned exposure to more positive figures in his life, but you have to consider the caliber of people outside of our unit. He’ll be exposed to a lot of negative influences as well.” 

Riza frowns, and she can’t help but think back to Ishval, to Kimblee. _That_ is the caliber of some of the Amestris military. Roy squeezes her hand, reading her train of thought, as he always does. “You and Maes can take him under your wings. The two of you are the best influences the military has to offer him. It’s regrettable that Edward lost his parents, but knowing you and knowing Maes - you both can mold him into a good soldier, and a good man.” 

Riza nods resolutely. “We will.” 

Unbidden, Riza thinks of Fuhrer Bradley, his wife, and their young son, just adopted a couple of years ago. They seem like such a happy family. Mrs. Bradley, especially, dotes on Selim, and Selim adores her. She thinks of Roy’s aunt, Chris Mustang, and how she had raised Roy after the accident that had orphaned him. She’s seen Roy with Chris; underneath the sniping and the sharp verbal barbs they trade, the love they have for one another is clear. 

Parenthood can take different forms for different people, Riza reminds herself, and she holds that thought tight, a lifeline. It will be all right. 

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

******  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments or thoughts would be very much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everybody who left kudos or a comment on the previous chapter! I've had a change in my employment situation due to the global pandemic, and it's been incredibly helpful to have this story to put my energy into. It makes me so happy to see that others are enjoying it too.

Thursday feels like it drags on at work. Riza’s eyes feel unusually heavy, her shoulders ache, and there’s a familiar, dull pain in her temples and behind her eyes.

One look at her desk calendar tells her why that is, and she breathes a small sigh. She’ll be in for an unpleasant weekend. 

Riza stops by the corner store after work to buy her usual supplies. Chamomile tea, chocolate, cocoa powder and milk for making hot chocolate, stew meat, and lentils. For some reason, she always craves stew at this time of the month. At the last minute, she remembers that she needs some shampoo and conditioner as well, and tosses a bottle of each into her basket. She goes through it so much faster now that her hair is so long. She still hasn’t gotten used to that. 

Roy comes over a few hours after she gets home, bearing a paper grocery bag with almost identical contents to hers. There’s no shampoo and conditioner, but there is a copy of  _ The Best Shot at Success,  _ the recently released autobiography of Ella Schultz, the first female officer in the Amestris military. Riza hugs him tight, and they spend a relaxing night curled up on her sofa, talking quietly. 

She falls asleep in his arms, but wakes up alone in her bed, neatly tucked in. Hayate lies near her feet, loyally keeping watch over her. 

That morning dawns without event - a surprise. The work day is busy, with more than enough to occupy her mind. Still, as the day wears on, she grows more uneasy. 

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Colonel Mustang asks her, at one point. “You seem a little preoccupied today.”

“I’m just concerned about the Abitz murder, sir,” Riza replies. That is part of the truth, after all. “About the possibility you raised that it might be connected to the Bangert incident in January.” 

Everyone else is in the office with them, and Breda jumps in with a theory, which thankfully distracts the Colonel. 

That evening, Riza walks Hayate in the park, lost in thought. She tries to relax for the rest of the night with the book Roy had bought her, but the attempt isn’t very successful. Half an hour from midnight, she’s pacing her apartment. 

“Why hasn’t it started yet?” she asks Hayate. Her faithful friend tilts his head, whining softly in the back of his throat. It’s always started on Thursday afternoon or Thursday evening. Always. 

She wants to call Roy or Rebecca, the two people on this earth she can go to with anything, but she can’t. Not yet. Saying all of this to another person will make her fears real, and she isn’t ready for that yet. 

“Maybe it’s just stress,” Riza says, but she doesn’t believe it, even as she says it. Even during the year she had spent in Ishval, when she had been a hollow, traumatized shell of a human being, her cycle had been as regular as clockwork. 

Riza sits on the sofa, trying to think through the situation with the calm logic that is second nature to her. She is twenty-seven; far too young for her cycle to stop or change. Rebecca once mentioned that her mother had gone through menopause early, in her late thirties, but that’s a decade away yet. 

She’s heard that women can miss their periods if they’ve lost weight, or are very active. She’s no more or less active than she has always been, and her clothes fit the same as they always have - not any looser. But they’re not any tighter, either, which should rule out the fear she can’t even verbalize in the privacy of her own mind. 

Still, it takes her hours to fall asleep. 

Riza spends Saturday with Rebecca, and manages to act normally enough that Rebecca doesn’t seem suspicious of anything amiss. 

She wakes up late on Sunday morning, a leaden feeling in her stomach. Even without having to go to the bathroom, she knows that her period hasn’t started yet. 

“Fuck,” Riza says softly, staring at the ceiling.

She can’t bring herself to eat breakfast. Her stomach rebels at the thought -  _ god,  _ her stomach actually rebels at the thought. Riza sobs once, standing in front of the stove, and immediately presses her hand to her mouth, as if she could stuff the sound back inside her. Now isn’t the time for panic or for her emotions to take over. Now is the time for calm detachment and action.

She tilts her head back and breathes deeply, in and out, until her composure returns and she’s able to take Hayate for a walk. 

After coming home to drop Hayate off, Riza sits on the sofa for several minutes, resting her palms against her knees, trying to ground herself. Then, she rises and walks to the pay phone on the far east side of Trettach Park. This particular pay phone and the area around it are almost always deserted. 

She enters the booth, drops the coins in, picks up the phone, and dials a number with a Central area code. 

The line is picked up after the fifth ring. “Hello?” 

The gruff voice is immediately recognizable. “Hello, Madame Christmas,” Riza says. “It’s Elizabeth. How are you?”

“Ah, Elizabeth.” She can hear the smile in Chris Mustang’s voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that you should call me Chris?”

“At least one more, Madame.”

“Stubborn girl. Well, that’s why you suit Rhys so well. Birds of a feather.” Chris sighs. “How’s he doing? Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

The mention of Roy makes Riza swallow over her suddenly dry throat. “Yes, for now.”

“And you?”

Riza winds the cord of the phone around her finger. “Actually, that’s why I called,” she says. “I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and Riza knows that Chris has understood her meaning. 

“I see,” Chris says carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Headaches, back pain, fatigue. And I’m late, which  _ never  _ happens.” Riza looks down at the floor. “I had a little nausea this morning. Though that could have been from nerves.” 

There’s another, longer pause. “Those are all early signs,” Chris says. Her voice is softer, sympathetic.

Her stomach plummets, and Riza rests her hand against the wall to steady herself. “But how?” she asks. “How could this have happened? I’ve been as reliable with my tea as I always have. I’ve never missed a day.” 

Chris sighs. “There can be inconsistencies, from batch to batch,” she says. “Issues with quality control. Some of the people who source it will mix in powdered aster to add bulk. It’s indistinguishable from Queen Anne’s Lace in color, odor, and taste. And even pure Queen Anne’s grows stale, over time, and loses effectiveness. Some apothecaries aren’t reliable at taking older batches off the shelves when they should.”

Riza closes her eyes, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over her, and the panic. “Chris,” she says hoarsely. She wants to sink to the ground. “What am I going to do? I can’t - we can’t--”

“Breathe, Elizabeth,” Chris instructs. “Take four deep breaths. Stay with me.”

Riza breathes in, out, in, out, shakily. Her hands are trembling so hard she can barely hold onto the phone. “Okay,” she says. She trusts Chris. Chris has guided probably a hundred other women through what she is going through now. “I’m here.”

“The one good thing about this is that you caught it early,” Chris says. “And that is a  _ very  _ good thing. There’s no need for any back alley operations that will put you in danger.”

Riza presses a hand to her mouth. “Really?” 

“Yes. It’s a matter of two herbal tinctures, one of crocus sativus and one of mesua ferrea.”

“Hold on,” Riza says faintly, bending down and searching for the notebook that she always keeps in her shoulder bag. “I need to…”

“Don’t worry about writing these down,” Chris says at once. “After what happened with the Queen Anne’s, I’m not trusting any apothecary in East City to handle this. I’ll brew some myself and I’ll send one of my couriers over. She’ll bring my written instructions on how to take them, as well as detailed notes of exactly what you can expect after you do. She’ll arrive tomorrow morning by eight.”

“Thank you,” Riza whispers, her eyes stinging. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re family, and I look out for family.” Chris heaves a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That it has to be this way.”

Riza thinks back to their last visit to Central, to Chris’s teasing Roy about when they would get married and give her a grandchild to spoil, because she wasn’t getting any younger, you know. She nods mutely, and then remembers Chris can’t see her. “I am, too,” she says, and her voice cracks. 

“Have you told Rhys?”

“Not yet,” Riza says. The thought brings back the feeling of wanting to throw up. 

“Tell him,” Chris advises. “I know how strong you are, but this is too much of a burden for even you to shoulder alone.” 

“I will.” Riza wipes her eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Stay strong, Elizabeth. Take care. I’ll call you to check in after a few days.”

Riza walks home, feeling dazed. Hayate greets her at the door, and she sinks to her knees and wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his fur. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays like that. She doesn’t want it to - she wants to keep it at a safe distance, removed - but it sinks in, slowly, inexorably. 

She is pregnant, and tomorrow, she won’t be.

-

The strain of the morning exhausts her. Riza sleeps on the sofa for an hour, wakes, forces herself to choke down some buttered toast. She makes the second of the three phone calls she has to make today, and manages to avoid breaking down into tears on the phone. 

Then she makes the third call. She reaches Roy on his office line, because Sundays are his designated day to finish as much work as he needs to, while having the privacy of East City Command entirely to himself. On Sundays, there’s no need to maintain any of the farce of incompetence and lazy, lackadaisical attitude that has been his mainstay for so many years. 

“Hello, Colonel,” Riza says, when he picks up. To her relief, her voice is calm and even. “I’m sorry to bother you at work.”

She hears the rustle of paperwork being set down. “It’s never a bother to hear from you, Lieutenant,” Roy says. “What’s going on?”

“I have an idea about the recent murders of former State Alchemists that I’d prefer not to share over the phone. Would you mind stopping by after you’re finished?”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Roy says at once. “Would you like me to bring any of the evidence files?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

-

Cleaning her guns has always been a calming ritual. Gathering the supplies - cleaning solvent, gun oil, bore brush, patch holder and patches, cleaning rod, flashlight, cleaning brush, soft cloths for polishing. Unloading, disassembling, scrubbing and lubricating the barrel and the action, putting it all back together again, polishing the metal until it gleams lovely, subtle gray and burnished silver. 

Riza cleans three of her guns and she’s just finished with putting her supplies away when she hears the key turn in the lock. Roy steps inside, and his smile at seeing her almost instantly fades into an expression of concern. “Riza,” he says, crossing over to the sofa and taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?” 

She bites back the instinctive response, to deny that anything is wrong; to claim that everything is fine. It is her job to protect Roy, and for an instant, Riza debates lying, telling him that there’s nothing amiss or just that she’s sick, and sending him away. She can bear this burden on her own, and protect him from it. Why should both of them suffer? 

But something inside her warns her that she’ll regret that if she does, and Riza takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She glances at him for a second, and her gaze slides away. She can’t look at him. She can’t. She stares at the potted plant on the coffee table instead. “I’m pregnant,” she says.

The words fall, heavy, between them. 

Roy blinks, looking stunned, like she had just struck him. Riza sees the panic begin to dawn in his eyes, then, the horror, the realization of what this means for them. It makes her stomach turn. Nobody ever wants to see panic and horror in the person they love’s eyes, and know they are the cause of it. 

“I’m not keeping it, of course,” she continues. Her voice is remote, calm, unrecognizable even to herself. “I called your aunt from a pay phone this morning. She’s sending a couple of tinctures for me to take, and they should get here by tomorrow morning. It’s early enough that there’s no need for a surgical procedure.”

The expression of relief that flits across his face is gone in an instant, replaced by genuine concern, but it’s enough to gut her. 

“Riza,” Roy says, reaching out to her, taking her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t reply. She has no strength to speak. 

Roy draws her into his arms, holds her close and so tightly it almost hurts, strokes her hair. Riza can feel his ragged breaths against her body, and she screws her eyes shut. She hasn’t wanted to break down so badly in years. 

“It has to be done,” she says, her voice muffled by his shoulder, and she is proud that her voice remains steady. “Our careers - your ambition… We have to do this.” 

Roy strokes her cheek. He is silent for a long while. It is a wild, ridiculous thought, but Riza imagines him saying  _ Don’t,  _ and her heart breaks. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, at last. His voice cracks. 

Riza bites the inside of her cheek and nods. 

“If you wait to take the tinctures until tomorrow evening, I can be here with you,” Roy says, pulling back and looking into her eyes. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be.” Riza wraps her arms around herself. “I called Rebecca earlier. She’s taking the next train over from her parents’ place. And don’t worry - she doesn’t know anything except for the fact that my friend Elizabeth has fallen ill, but will make a full recovery after a course of some antibiotics.”

She hadn’t meant the words to sound bitter, genuinely wanting to assuage the question on his mind, but Roy slumps, rubbing the back of his neck. He takes it for a rebuke, and takes it without a word of denial. “Thank you,” he says again, quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s the right decision,” Riza repeats. “I know that.” And if she says it out loud enough, maybe that will lessen the knot in her chest, relieve the pit in her stomach and the weight pressing down on her shoulders. 

Roy looks at her, concerned, and he opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment there’s nothing Riza wants more than to be alone. Far away from here. No, just far away from  _ him _ . She’s never felt that way before.

“You should go,” she says, standing up. 

He stays put. “I don’t want you to be by yourself,” he repeats. 

There’s so much guilt written on him. She hasn’t seen him like this since Ishval. Even now, Riza worries for him, and makes herself smile a small smile. “I’m not alone,” she says, gesturing to Hayate, who rises from his spot near the window and trots to her side. “Besides, the last thing you want is for Rebecca to walk in on you here.” 

“Oh. Right.” Roy finally stands, a little unsteady on his feet. “I’ll come over tomorrow after work, to check in.”

She doesn’t particularly want that; can’t imagine how she will face him, but Riza inclines her head anyway.

Roy steps close and cups her face in his hands, kisses her brow with such tenderness. Riza’s hand closes in the fabric of his shirt, holding on for a moment. There’s so much she wants to say, but she can’t. 

She lets go, like she will tomorrow. 

Roy leaves, looking back over his shoulder worriedly the whole time, as if he’s afraid she will combust. 

Riza sinks back into her sofa and holds her arms out to Hayate. He bounds up beside her immediately, curling in her lap, and she strokes his soft, warm fur, numb. 

She must have drifted off again, weary from this hellish day. When she wakes, she immediately realizes that she and Hayate aren’t alone on the sofa anymore. Rebecca is sitting beside her, a book open on her lap, two cups of tea on the coffee table in front of them. She smiles softly. “Hey, Ri.”

Riza leans into her, wrapping her arms around her friend in a rare moment of expressiveness. “Thanks for coming,” she murmurs. “I owe you.”

Rebecca strokes her hair, and then offers her the cup of tea. “You don’t. This is what friends are for.”

They pull back and look each other in the eye. “He’s not forcing you to do this, is he?” Rebecca asks at last, breaking the silence.

The bluntness of the question startles Riza, and she almost drops her tea. “What?”

“Come on, Riza,” Rebecca says softly. “He’s your commanding officer. Is he--”

She wants to deny it, she should, but she respects her friend too much to lie to her face. Rebecca deserves better than that. Riza shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I… I made the call before I even told him.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“It’s what I  _ have  _ to do,” Riza repeats, for what feels like the hundredth time, out loud and in her mind, that day. “For both of us.”

Rebecca sighs. “You don’t think there’s a way to keep it, without revealing who the father is?” 

“No.” Riza stares into her teacup. “People would talk, and they would assume it’s him. It would end my career, and jeopardize his as well. And I can’t do that.”

“Fuck his career," Rebecca mutters under her breath. "Adoption?” she suggests, though she sounds unconvinced.

“I admire women who can make that choice, but carrying this pregnancy and holding our…” - Riza chokes - “Our child in my arms, and giving it to someone else to love? I know I can get through this, but I don’t think I could survive that.”

Riza turns away, unable to face the sympathy on Rebecca’s face. “It’s for the best,” she repeats. “The pain will be temporary.” And she remembers her father tattooing the Flame Alchemy array onto her back, and the agony of Roy burning away parts of it. 

The physical pain will be temporary. She has heard about the cramps, the bleeding, that can occur with abortifacients. But the rest of it, the grief, the emotional pain - she will carry that with her, just like Ishval. 

Rebecca takes her hand. “I’ll be here for you,” she says bracingly, reading her mind. “You’ll get through this, just like you did the rest. Now, I’m going to go make us something to eat.”

Riza’s stomach rebels at the thought. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now.” 

Rebecca holds a hand up. “Not up for discussion. Dinner, then sleep. You need to keep your strength up.”

Riza can’t argue with that.

-

Riza had thought that sleep would be difficult in coming, but she is so weary emotionally that she succumbs just after dinner with Rebecca. She dreams of Ishval, and wakes up with tears in her eyes. She wonders if this is penance. 

The morning has a surreal, dreamlike quality to it. Rebecca receives Madame Christmas’s courier at eight, and the two of them open the paper bag and look over the tinctures inside, and the enclosed letter. Riza reads the letter twice, taking in the instructions and the warnings. The tinctures have to be drunk consecutively. There will be cramping, and the bleeding will start one to four hours after taking the second of the two tinctures. There might be blood clots that could be “up to the size of a lemon.”

Rebecca takes Riza’s arm, and she holds on to it, grateful for the stability and gravity of Rebecca on one side of her and Hayate sitting next to her. 

“Come on,” Riza says, finally. Her throat aches. “Let’s do this.” 

They sit on the bathroom floor together. Rebecca holds a glass of water, and Riza holds the two tinctures of amber liquid. They look so innocuous. 

“It’s not too late,” Rebecca says. “If you change your mind, know that I will do anything to support you. I have family connections in the civilian sector that can help you find another job.”

Riza takes her hand and squeezes it. “I know. Thank you.”

She is scared. It hurts to admit it, and it’s stupid, because this is the natural consequence of their actions, but she is scared. And as much as she had wanted him far away last night, right now, she wishes Roy were by her side.

Both tinctures taste bitter on their way down.

-

Roy goes straight to the liquor store after leaving Riza’s apartment.

He pastes a bright smile on his face the moment before he steps inside, and greets the employees cheerfully. He chats with them as he grabs a bottle of vodka, then whiskey, and then rum. He is stocking up for a party tonight, a gathering of old friends from his academy days. He can’t wait. It’s been more than a year since they last got together.

The smile falls off Roy’s face as soon as he leaves the store. He wants nothing more than to break open one of the bottles on the walk to his house, but he stops himself. Public intoxication is conduct unbecoming of an officer. Just like carrying on a secret affair with one’s subordinate and forcing her to face the consequences on her own. 

Roy opens the bottle of vodka as soon as he’s back in his dark, small apartment. He has three gulps down, burning his chest like fire, by the time he collapses on the sofa, head in his hands. 

-

The next day is hell. 

Drunk for most of the night, raging hangover and trying to hide it, three hours of sleep, painfully hot shower to attempt to wash the smell of liquor off of him before coming into work, hell. 

“Where’s Hawkeye?” Havoc asks, as soon as they’re all (not all) in the office. Riza’s absence is conspicuous; Roy feels it like one of his senses had suddenly vanished. 

Falman scratches his head. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen her miss a day before.” 

Roy stares down at his paperwork and tries not to flinch.

“Out sick,” Fuery replies, looking up from his radio. “She left a message. Said she should be back by mid-week.”

“Must be a hell of a cold,” Breda says. “Let’s order a soup delivery from Harmann’s to her place over lunch.”

Roy spends the day staring at his paperwork and getting nothing significant done. His head pounds. Every other moment he finds himself thinking about how Riza is doing. 

He knows more about medical abortions than the average person, from listening to his aunt and the ladies at the bar. He knows more than he wants to. The painful cramps, clots, nausea, dizziness. And he remembers hearing about the infection that had sent Vanessa to the hospital in the middle of the night and nearly killed her. 

He was supposed to protect Riza. She is the most important person in his world. He was supposed to protect her, not put her in one of the worst positions of her life, to the point of putting her health in danger. He hasn’t failed so colosally since Ishval. The shame makes Roy’s throat close up and his face burn. 

He let her down. Riza has shown him nothing but loyalty, devotion, compassion, empathy, and love, for all these years, and he has repaid it like this. With a secret abortion alone at home. He can’t even be by her side today, because then they’d be out of work at the same time. Then people would talk, rumors would spread, and that would sabotage their careers and his ambition.

Roy rubs his eyes and curses himself for selfish garbage. He asks himself, for the tenth time since the last evening, if his ambition is worth it. 

At least Riza isn’t completely alone, he remembers belatedly. Rebecca is with her. That is a small comfort. And he can go see her as soon as he leaves work ( _ but after night falls and the city streets begin to empty out, because nobody needs to see him visiting his adjutant’s apartment alone, because then people would talk, rumors would spread…) _

The thought of seeing Riza makes Roy’s chest tighten with anxiety. He wants to see her, he needs to see her  _ \- your selfish wants and needs are what got Riza into this situation in the first place,  _ he reminds himself brutally _ \-  _ and at the same time, something in him shrinks back from the thought. He remembers the way she had looked at him last night, removed and distant. Riza has never looked at him like that before. 

What if she hates him now? What if she’ll never be able to look at him again without remembering the pain he has put her through? 

His palms are sweating. Roy wipes them against his chair, trying to still the slight tremble to them. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt so sickeningly, viscerally anxious. The rest of the hours drag by. One by one, the rest of the team leaves for the evening. 

Roy locks up the office once they have all gone. Stops in the locker room, changes out of his uniform, washes his face, dry heaves over the sink a few times. 

He goes to Bosque’s after leaving and picks up food for Riza. It’s blissfully dark by then. A blessing, considering how badly the lights and sunshine have made his head pound all day. He’s walking up the stairs, lost in thought, and almost runs into someone coming down. 

She is short, dark-haired, and looks just as preoccupied as he had been. They recognize one another the instant they lock eyes. 

“Catalina,” Roy manages, inclining his head, suppressing the immediate, instinctive reaction of  _ fuck, this is bad.  _

Rebecca’s eyes narrow. “Scumbag,” she says, and shoulders past him, continuing down the stairs.

Roy stares, taken aback. Before she can get too far, he reaches out, grabbing her by the arm. “Wait,” he says, too loudly. “How is she?”

Rebecca shakes him off. “Like you ca--”

“Please,” Roy interrupts. In any other time, he would have been incensed, but now, all he feels is weariness and worry. 

“She’s okay,” Rebecca says at last, refusing to make eye contact with him. “It went as well as can be expected. No sign of fever or complications.”

Roy closes his eyes, and all the breath leaves his body in a long sigh. “Thank you,” he says. “For being there when I couldn’t.”

Rebecca glares at him and then whirls around, leaving without another word. 

Roy proceeds upstairs, unlocking the door with some trepidation. “Riza?” he calls, stepping inside. 

Hayate yips, but doesn’t rise from his spot on the sofa, next to Riza. She sits there, wrapped in a blanket, the book he had given her on her lap, cup of tea in her hand. She looks at him, and her grasp on the teacup seems to tighten. “Hey,” she says quietly.

Her face is pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks drawn, exhausted. 

Roy drops the bag of food on the floor and walks over to her, enfolding her in his arms without a word. There is so much he wants to say, so much that he had planned to say during those hours of work, and now, he can’t bring himself to speak. 

“How are you feeling?” he manages, at last.

“I’m okay,” Riza says, drawing away from him, resting her hands on Hayate again. His fur warms her hands so well. She’s felt cold most of the day. “Still a bit...sore. But the worst of it has been over for hours.”

“I’m glad,” Roy says, pulling in a ragged breath, and Riza looks at him out of the corner of her eye, through her bangs. Even now, the sight makes her aching shoulders tighten a little further out of worry. He looks as awful as she’s ever seen him, and he smells faintly of alcohol. He had made the effort to shave, but there’s a fresh cut on his cheek. 

It’s clear that he hasn’t taken this well. Or in stride. She never likes to see him agitated, let alone deeply disturbed like this, but it gives Riza a sense of perverse reassurance. That at least she isn’t the only one suffering. The thought makes her feel guilty a heartbeat after she has it. 

“I’m so sorry,” Roy whispers. He takes her hand, holds it tightly, stares at the coffee table.

“Don’t be,” Riza makes herself say, because that is the right response. “This wasn’t your fault. It was both of us.”

Roy turns and looks at her with that intense, penetrating stare she knows so well, the one that can root anyone to the floor and cause any thought of untruths to wither and die. “Are you all right?” he asks, and that look on his face prevents her from her first, instinctive response. “I’ve always counted on you to be honest with me. Please don’t stop now. Don’t feel that you have to hold back in order to spare me anything.” 

That sincerity, the plea, cuts deep. Riza meets his gaze. “I know this is what I had to do,” she says carefully, willing herself to keep her voice steady. “What we had to do. I kept - keep - telling myself that. And you. And Rebecca. I kept thinking that, but…”

She trails off, suddenly unable to say another word. 

“Oh, Riza,” Roy whispers, sounding anguished, and he puts his hand on her shoulder.

Riza folds into herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach, and breaks down sobbing. Roy pulls her into him, holding her tightly as she weeps, curling against him, painful, gasping for air, gut-wrenching sobs, like she hasn’t since her mother died and then Ishval. As hard as she tries, she can’t stop. “I wanted it,” she cries. “I know it’s stupid, but I  _ wanted  _ it, so badly, and...and--” 

“It’s not stupid,” Roy says hoarsely. She can feel the moisture in her hair and knows that he is crying too. 

She hadn’t cried when the cramps had wracked her body, and hadn’t cried when the bleeding had started. She had put herself into a stoic daze, like she had so many times before. Now, it’s like a dam has broken. Riza cries for what feels like hours, until her ribs and eyes ache and she can barely breathe.

Roy holds her the entire time, stroking her hair, wiping her face with the corners of her blanket. When her tears finally subside, he tilts her face up to his with a gentle pressure of fingers on his chin, and Riza looks up into his reddened eyes. 

“Next time, it will be different,” Roy says quietly. “I promise you that.”

His voice is deadly serious, the way it had been when he had vowed to become Fuhrer. The words take a moment to sink in, and they make her eyes burn all over again. Riza nods wordlessly.

Roy reaches out and tucks a lock of stray hair behind her ear. Then he looks at her, a searching, tentative gaze. He leans forward, slowly, like he’s never done before, clearly telegraphing the movement, and kisses her softly on the lips.

Riza kisses him back, like she has a thousand times before. But this time, instead of feeling like coming home, like comfort, it hurts. As viscerally as it had when he had burned the skin on her back so long ago. 

She jerks away instinctively, automatically. Roy blinks at her, startled, and then turns red. “I’m sorry,” he says hastily. He reaches toward her, and then hesitates, pulling his hands back, as if remembering himself. “I shouldn’t have just--”

Riza touches his knee, feeling his leg twitch beneath her hand. “It’s not you,” she says, with feeling. “It just feels too...raw...right now.” She pauses, struggling with the words. “It might be a while until everything feels...right. I just need time.” 

“Of course,” Roy says, running a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

He looks like he is going to say something, and Riza forestalls him. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she says. “If all of this has become too much of a complication in your life, a distraction from your goal. Or if you’d rather be with a woman you can actually take out in public. Someone without all of this--” she tries not to choke on the word, and gestures between them. “Baggage.” 

Roy grabs her hand, giving her another one of those intense looks. “Riza,” he says. “There is nobody else I would rather be with. I don’t care how long I have to wait for you. Whether it’s weeks, or months, or years. I’ll wait, without question.”

“Roy--” 

“I’m a patient man,” he says, squeezing her hand. “And I won’t be deterred from my goals. You should know that.” 

“I do,” Riza whispers, relenting at last. “I do. And thank you, for understanding.”

“Always.”

Roy stays over that night, though, just to make sure that she is all right. They eat dinner together and Roy takes Hayate out for a short walk. Afterward, he tucks her into bed and settles into the reading chair in the corner of her room, near the window. Riza falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She wakes up briefly at sunrise, to Roy moving around the room, getting ready to leave for work. The other side of her bed is still tucked neatly, and it looks like he had slept in the armchair. 

“Try to get some paperwork done today, Colonel,” she says, turning toward him, half-getting up in bed. “I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.” 

His back is to her, and she sees him stiffen at the formality of the words. He turns to face her, and Riza smiles.

Roy visibly relaxes at the look on her face, and salutes her. “I’ll do my best, Lieutenant.” 

He leaves, and Riza settles back into bed, feeling simultaneously melancholy and more at ease than she has in days. 

* * *

_ to be continued _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really the spark that triggered the entire story. Originally I had just planned on writing a oneshot centered on this idea, but the ideas grew from there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! We'll have one more chapter after this to wrap everything up.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everybody who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter! I was so happy to read them and to know that you're enjoying the story. <3
> 
> I realized that I'm terrible at judging how much content I have left to write. I thought chapter four would be the last chapter of the story, but I was wrong. We'll have chapter five and then an epilogue.

Another day, another failed lead.

Riza walks up the steps to Eastern Command, lost in thought. It’s been three days since she had identified Scar’s jacket at the scene of the sewer tunnel collapse. Based on the bloodstains on the jacket, she had theorized that the man had been killed or seriously injured in the tunnel collapse. It’s been three days of searching, and there’s been no progress. They haven’t found Scar’s corpse. They haven’t found the alchemist living, either. With that level of injury, he shouldn’t have been able to make it far, but there’s been absolutely no trace of him. It’s like he had vanished into thin air. It’s the most frustrating case she’s worked on in years. All of this on top of preparing for Colonel Mustang’s impending transfer to Central...

Riza enters the building, mulling over the necessity of expanding the search radius to fifty miles outside of East City in all directions. She hears a familiar voice call her name, and she looks up sharply. 

Rebecca’s standing at the top of the marble staircase, waving to her. She’s too busy for their usual Thursday lunch at Blomgren’s, but Riza glances at the clock, noting that she does have a couple of minutes to spare for a hello. 

“How are you, Rebecca?” she asks, once she’s climbed up to the second level.

“Fine, fine,” Rebecca says, in her usual airy tone, but there’s a worried look on her face. “Walk with me for a minute?”

“Of course,” Riza says, falling into step beside her friend. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem preoccupied.” 

“Lieutenant General Grumman actually asked me to find you,” Rebecca says softly. “He said it was urgent.” 

Riza glances over at her, taken aback. “The Lieutenant General asked you to find me? Not the Colonel?” 

Rebecca nods. “You. He was very clear that I should bring you, alone, to his office.”

Riza blinks, nonplussed. She’s only ever interacted with Lieutenant General Grumman in the context of her duties as Colonel Mustang’s adjutant. She knows that Colonel Mustang is the Lieutenant General’s protege and that the two of them are close, but she can’t imagine why Grumman would want to speak with her alone. 

“Grumman got a phone call before he called me in and told me to find you,” Rebecca continues, in an undertone. “It looked bad, Ri. It looked like he aged ten years after getting off that phone.”

“Do you think it’s something to do with Scar?” Riza asks quietly. “But then he would have summoned the Colonel, not me.” 

“I have no idea. I’m as lost as you are.”

They come to a stop in front of Grumman’s office, and exchange worried looks. 

Rebecca knocks on the door. “It’s Second Lieutenant Catalina, with First Lieutenant Hawkeye, sir,” she calls. 

Grumman summons them in, and they stand at attention, saluting. “At ease, soldiers,” he says, and Riza studies him, taking in the lines of strain at his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, his rigid posture, his hands tightly folded in front of him. Grumman seemed so relaxed and jovial whenever she had seen him before, and Colonel Mustang and Rebecca always have some outrageous story or another to tell about him. Right now, though, it looks like it takes him a considerable effort to manage a small smile. “Thank you, Second Lieutenant Catalina. You’re dismissed. Lieutenant Hawkeye, please come and take a seat.”

Rebecca gives her a reassuring squeeze of the arm and then leaves, shutting the door behind them. Still feeling rather out of place, Riza crosses the room and sits down across from the Lieutenant General. “Thank you for the invitation, sir,” she says. “Is there any information that I can provide you about our unit’s pursuit of Scar?” 

Grumman shakes his head, looking distracted. “Not today, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’re all doing your best work.” He reaches for a large tin on his desk, and pulls out a foil-wrapped circle. “Can I offer you a biscuit?”

Riza blinks at the non sequitur. “No thank you, Lieutenant General. I’m fine.” 

“It’s lunchtime, Lieutenant. You must be hungry. And these are blueberry.” A momentary flicker of sadness passes over Grumman’s expression, there and gone so quickly that Riza wonders if she had imagined it. “They’re divine.”

Blueberry - her favorite. As always, Riza remembers her mother’s blueberry cake, and she pushes the memory away. Twenty years have passed, and it still makes her melancholy. Work isn’t the time or place for that. Besides, something in Grumman’s demeanor makes her think that yet another storm is coming, something that will demand the entirety of her attention. 

But she hasn’t eaten anything today, save for a couple of slices of buttered toast just after sunrise, and Riza relents, taking the biscuit. Grumman takes one too, and they eat their biscuits in silence. It is easily the strangest thing that has happened to her in a long while, and that is saying something. 

“You must be wondering why I called you here, Lieutenant,” Grumman says, once they are finished. 

Riza nods. “Yes, sir.”

Grumman studies her for a few long moments. “I know how close you are to Colonel Mustang,” he says. “What I am about to tell you… He should hear it from you first, rather than at the emergency all-Eastern Command briefing in an hour’s time.” 

Riza’s shoulders stiffen. This is highly unusual. Both the idea of an emergency all-Eastern Command briefing, and the idea of Colonel Mustang needing advance warning of the briefing’s contents. She mentally runs through a succession of possibilities, each worse than the last. “Sir?”

Grumman looks at her steadily. “Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was murdered last night.”

That had not been one of the possibilities she had considered. 

“No,” Riza says, staring at the Lieutenant General. “I mean - no, Lieutenant General, that can’t be… That can’t...”

She trails off, horrified, her thoughts a tumult. Maes had been here a week ago. Just a week ago. She remembers saying goodbye to him before he left for Central.  _ Give my best to Gracia and Elicia,  _ she had said. Maes assured her he would, and pulled out a picture of the two of them to show her, and invited her and Roy to come over for dinner next time they were in Central. 

_ I think I’m going to be sick,  _ is what Riza wants to say, now, but she just sits there, frozen. 

“I’m sorry,” Grumman says soberly. “I know this must be a terrible shock. I understand that you, Colonel Mustang, and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes were personal friends, as well as colleagues. I’ll make you some tea.”

He rises from his chair, and presses a full cup into her hands a few minutes later. The tea smells sweet and fragrant, and Riza curls her nerveless fingers around the warmth of the cup, letting the heat seep into her. She feels cold all over, and her thoughts haven’t stopped racing. Memories of Maes - how can Maes just exist in memories, now? - worry for Gracia and Elicia, and questions - a thousand questions. 

“Thank you,” Riza says faintly, looking up at him. “Lieutenant General… How did this happen? Has a perpetrator been apprehended? If not, are there any suspects?” She can’t keep the questions from spilling out. “And why - why Lieutenant Colonel Hughes? Was this a random act of violence, or was he targeted?”

“I wish I could answer those questions for you,” Grumman says. He hesitates, then pats her on the shoulder once, before returning to his side of the desk. “Central Command was very tight-lipped during our conversation. They’re not revealing what little they know. I assume that you and Colonel Mustang will want to go there yourselves and ask around.” 

“Yes, sir,” Riza manages. Her head is spinning. She and the unit have investigated a thousand cases over their years together, but she would have never, in her worst nightmares, imagined investigating the murder of a fellow colleague and friend. 

“I’m giving both of you leave to take whatever time you need for your investigation,” Grumman says. “You can head to Central whenever you wish, even this afternoon. You’re both exempt from the briefing, since you’ve heard it from me already. The only other thing Central Command had to share is that the funeral will be held tomorrow.”

Riza closes her eyes at the words, and a wave of nausea washes over her at the idea of breaking the news to Colonel Mustang. “Thank you for the advance warning, sir,” she forces herself to say, opening her eyes. As difficult as it will be for her to tell him, hearing the news in private - and being able to respond to it alone - will be a kindness. 

“Please give him my condolences,” Grumman says quietly. He looks across the desk at her, concerned. “Are you able to make your way back, Lieutenant Hawkeye? Should I have Catalina bring Colonel Mustang here?” 

“I’m fine, Lieutenant General. Thank you.” Riza stands, a little unsteadily, and puts the cup of tea back on the desk.

She makes her way back to her unit’s office in a daze.  _ Targeted,  _ she thinks, with every step. Maes had to have been targeted for something he knew. 

Thankfully, the rest of the desks are empty. Fuery, Havoc, Falman, and Breda must be out to lunch. Riza finds Colonel Mustang sitting at his desk, hunched over a thick stack of reports, scribbling away with a frown on his face, one hand in his hair, and an empty takeout carton beside him. There’s a single small framed photo on his desk, and she knows the image well. The entire unit and Hughes, taken outside of Blomgren’s on Colonel Mustang’s twenty-seventh birthday, three years ago. 

Riza pauses for a moment and takes the sight in. One last look at him in relative peace, before she upends his world. 

Riza steels herself, and enters. Colonel Mustang glances up at her, and immediately puts his pen down. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” he asks. “You look unwell.”

Riza avoids the question. “Will you come to the conference room with me, sir?” 

She’s never asked him to do that before, and Riza sees the confusion in his eyes, and then the worry. He rises at once, striding over to the conference room and holding the door open for her. 

Riza lowers the shutters in the room, and shuts and locks the door behind them. There is a tiny measure of comfort in those tangible, easy to complete tasks. A distraction from the horrible knowledge that Maes Hughes is dead a month short of his thirtieth birthday, leaving behind a wife and child who adored him.

“Colonel, please sit,” she says, willing herself to keep her voice steady. 

Colonel Mustang obediently sinks down into the nearest chair, at the head of the conference table, but he keeps his gaze pinned on her. “You’re worrying me, Lieutenant,” he says evenly. “What’s the matter?”

Riza pulls a chair over to sit across from him. She swallows over her dry throat, and asks herself how she should do this. She puts herself in Colonel Mustang’s shoes; imagines what she’d want if the roles were reversed and he had to tell her that something terrible had happened to Rebecca. 

Riza takes his hands in both of hers, and she feels Colonel Mustang stiffen with surprise. Eight years, and they have never once touched in the office. 

Three months, and they haven’t touched at all. As strange as being just a commanding officer and subordinate feels, after an eight-year relationship - she had asked for time, and he had given it to her. 

“Lieutenant,” Colonel Mustang says quietly. There’s an almost imperceptible tremble in his voice, and Riza knows that he knows something is incredibly wrong. 

“Lieutenant General Grumman called me into his office earlier this afternoon.” Riza speaks slowly, precisely, marshaling all of her strength. She has to be strong for him. “He wanted me to tell you in advance of the emergency briefing in an hour. Colonel…” Despite her best efforts, she falters. How do you tell someone their best friend is gone? 

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is dead,” she says softly. “Murdered last night, in Central.”

-

There are no tears. There are a few questions, delivered in the flat, numb tone of someone in shock. Are Gracia and Elicia safe? Has a perpetrator been identified? Are there any suspects? 

She says no to the latter two questions and relays the message from Grumman about how tight-lipped Central is being, and that Grumman expects that they will have to uncover the facts of the case on their own. There is a kind of cold anger Riza has never seen from him before. She’s seen Roy - Colonel Mustang - angry before, of course. The kind of quick, hot temper that comes with being underestimated in a fight, disrespected by another officer, or at Edward being insubordinate. She’s seen the longer-lasting, simmering rage, at the military establishment who had ordered the atrocities in Ishval. But she’s never seen this kind of ice-cold fury in him before. 

“If Central Command won’t do the work to identify the killer, we will,” Colonel Mustang says tersely. He finally drops her hands - they ache from how tightly he had gripped them - and rises. “Will you accompany me to Central, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, Colonel.” 

The unit is back by the time they leave the conference room, Colonel Mustang slamming the door open with a bang. Breda, Falman, Havoc, and Fuery glance over at them curiously. They immediately look back to their work upon catching sight of the expression on the Colonel’s face as he storms out of the office. 

“Colonel Mustang and I are going to be in Central for the next couple of days,” Riza says. “The investigation into Scar’s whereabouts is in your hands. Please expand the search radius to fifty miles in all directions of East City. We’ll be back on Friday.”

Breda salutes her. “You got it, boss.” 

Riza looks at Fuery, and before she can even speak, the young Master Sergeant smiles at her. “I’ll stop by your place after work and pick up Hayate.” 

“Thank you,” Riza says, and she has to blink against the sudden sting in her eyes as she looks at all of them. Her teammates and friends, like Hughes. If anything happens to any of them...

She leaves the office hastily, grabbing the Colonel’s coat off the rack as well as her own.

-

They make a brief stop at their respective apartments to pack their bags. Colonel Mustang waits in the living room, and Riza fights to keep her composure as she pulls the dress blues out from the back of her closet. She had last worn these for her promotion to First Lieutenant, and dreamed of wearing them next at Colonel Mustang’s promotion to Brigadier General. She had never imagined wearing them to a friend’s funeral.

Colonel Mustang doesn’t want to wait for a train, so they drive to Central. Riza offers to drive, but he just shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he says. “I need to have something to do.” 

He seems calm enough, but he grips the steering wheel with white knuckles and drives a little too fast. They talk a little, speculating about what could have happened and why, and spend the rest of the trip in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

It’s late evening by the time they arrive in Central, at the hotel where they normally stay while on trips for work. It’s not the fanciest place in the city - far from it - but the owner and the staff are friends of Madame Christmas. Very discreet. 

“Two rooms?” Colonel Mustang asks her over his shoulder, as he walks up to the front desk. 

The question is jarring. They haven’t stayed in two separate rooms for the better part of a decade, unless their travels had been accompanied by anyone else on the unit.

“One, please,” Riza says, looking away. “I won’t be an effective bodyguard if I’m in another room.”

She has to take her role as Colonel Mustang’s protection more seriously, now. Hughes would be alive if he’d had a bodyguard, someone to watch his back. 

Maybe Colonel Mustang had talked to the gentleman at the front desk to request it specially, but the room has two narrow beds placed side-by-side, rather than a single large one. Riza sets her things down on the bed closest to the door, and does a safety check of the entire room and attached bathroom, assessing ingress and egress points. The room is fifth story - more difficult to evacuate than a ground floor room. To make matters worse, there’s an enormous window in the room. A nightmare, from a security perspective, and the doors and locks are flimsy. She exhales a long, slow breath, looking around. She’ll just order a coffee delivered to their room and stay up tonight to watch over Colonel Mustang as he sleeps.

“Don’t even think about it, Lieutenant,” Colonel Mustang says heavily, as if he had read her mind. He’s sitting on the bed next to hers, head in his hands. “Get some rest tonight. You’ll need it. We have a great deal of work to do tomorrow.”

“I will if you will, Colonel,” Riza lies. She’ll have to stay up without the coffee, then. She looks at him, lost for words. If this had been four months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to hold him in her arms, rub his back, tell him it was all right to openly mourn this awful loss. 

Riza hesitates, and then walks over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. It’s a gentle, companionable touch, the same kind of comfort she would offer to any of the others on the unit. Colonel Mustang twitches at the contact, but he doesn’t pull back. He looks up at her, his eyes red but dry.

“I’m here for you,” she says. “If you need anything.”

Even as she says it, she isn’t sure of the full extent of what she’s offering. Riza sees a shadow of uncertainty in Colonel Mustang’s eyes, and weariness, and grief. He rests a hand on top of hers. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he says. “Truly. And I meant what I said. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be an ordeal.”

“Yes, sir.” 

-

Riza braces herself for the day as she gets ready in the morning, taking a painfully hot shower and pulling on her dress uniform, drying and brushing her hair, tucking it into its usual clip. It feels like she’s readying herself for battle. 

As embarrassing as it is to admit, the last time she had seen Colonel Mustang in his dress blues, his hair slicked back neatly, she had been distracted through a good part of the promotion ceremony. Sharp uniform aside, the colonel looks awful this morning. Dark shadows under his eyes, expression drawn and tense, complexion pale. His gaze lingers on her as she steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed in her own uniform, and it’s a few moments before he looks away.

_ The dress uniform looks quite nice on you, Lieutenant,  _ he had said last time, and Riza had smoothed her hands over her skirt, watching him watch the movement.  _ Thank you, Colonel. I hope to wear it to your next promotion soon.  _

Riza has the feeling he’s remembering the same thing. Neither of them could have predicted this.

She rests a hand on his arm for a brief moment. Colonel Mustang looks down at her, swallows like he was going to say something, and wordlessly gestures to the door.

The funeral is a nightmare, on so many levels. 

On one level - Gracia trying to be brave for Elicia. Elicia weeping and pleading for her father. All of them staring at the flag-draped coffin and knowing that Maes Hughes lies within, dead decades before his time. That broad smile, easy laugh, quick mind, and vivacious spirit, stilled forever.

Riza knows too well how easy it is to kill. One instant, one bullet, can end a life forever. Everything a person was, everything they are, everything they would be, eradicated. She never forgets that, but this is a brutal reminder. Maes had been here one week and gone the next. Everybody else in her life is just as vulnerable as he had been. Rebecca, Havoc, Fuery, Breda, Falman, the Elric brothers. Colonel Mustang. All it would take is a single moment, one lucky shot, and she’ll be standing here again, utterly helpless, at another funeral.

The sound of the gun salute rubs her nerves raw. Riza is conscious of Colonel Mustang beside her, standing straight and tall and rigid, his face a mask. After all these years, she knows him too well. She bears his grief and pain and shock, yet unexpressed, just as she bears her own. 

Riza finds Elicia and Gracia after the funeral and embraces them. Gracia holds her just as tightly as Elicia does, burying her face in her shoulder. Riza murmurs words of comfort around the knot in her chest and tries not to shudder at the thought of what she would ever do if she were in Gracia’s shoes. 

Riza finds Colonel Mustang after that, standing alone by Maes’s grave, and tries not to be shaken by the tears on his face. She has to hold it all together, retreat into the familiar shell of stoic professionalism, because there’s work to be done, justice to be found, and she has to stand by Colonel Mustang’s side through it all. He doesn’t need a rattled, shaken lover right now. He needs a strong, steady ally. 

They ask their questions at Central Command and investigate the scene, and everything comes together to paint an unsettling picture. A dark, shadowy conspiracy, though Riza can’t figure out how it all ties together. 

“I’m going after the senior staff,” Colonel Mustang says, as they stand outside the phone booth where Maes Hughes breathed his last. The sunset sky is unusually red this evening. Almost blood-red. “Are you with me, Lieutenant?

Riza holds his gaze. “Do you even have to ask?”

They stop at a cafe for dinner and talk quietly about their plans, in code. Once they return to the hotel room for the night, Colonel Mustang gestures over to her, indicating that she can have the bathroom first. 

After their conversation tonight, it’s a relief to be free of her dress uniform. Riza clips her hair out of the way and takes another painfully hot shower, and deep breaths of the eucalyptus-scented soap she likes so much. Though it’s normally helpful, tonight it doesn’t clear her mind or release the painful clenching in her chest. The anxiety building inside her since - since what happened three months ago, and the murders of current and former State Alchemists, and the Isaac McDougal incident, and the Shou Tucker nightmare, and Scar... 

She’s fought to suppress that anxiety, control it like a good professional should. Maes’s murder, and all the discussion of military cover-ups and conspiracies, has brought it surging back up with a vengeance. Riza turns off the water, rests her forehead against the wet shower tiles, and screws her eyes shut, trying to keep herself from trembling.

She wins the battle eventually, when her skin has completely air-dried, and pulls on her pajamas and a soft pink robe. Both had been gifts given during a happier, simpler time that feels like an eternity ago. They’re comforting nevertheless, and she needs all the comfort she can get. 

Riza opens the door, releasing a wall of pent-up steam. Colonel Mustang is standing in front of the window, arms folded behind his back, staring out over the city.

“Colonel,” Riza says instinctively. “Please step away from the window.” 

He looks over his shoulder at her, startled out of his reverie. Riza knows it’s a product of her over-tired mind and her anxiety, nothing more, but she can imagine the laser sight playing across his chest, bright red against the dark blue of his uniform. She crosses the room with a few quick strides, not waiting for him to move, and shuts the blinds with a snap. 

“You have to be more careful,” she says, taking his arm and guiding him away from the window. “Please be mindful of where you’re standing. You couldn’t have made yourself a clearer target.”

“It’s fine,” Colonel Mustang replies, though he allows her to guide him to a safe distance and angle from the window. 

“It’s not,” Riza says tersely. “Your proximity to Maes might mean that you are already in danger. And the fact that you’re going to be investigating the truth of the situation definitely puts a target on your back. I’ll revise your security protocol tonight and we’ll discuss the new procedures tomorrow.”

She expects him to argue, to say that she’s being overly cautious and he’s more than a match for any potential assailant. Colonel Mustang just looks at her, and some of the strain and anger softens out of his expression. “Lieutenant,” he says softly. “You’re shaking.”

Riza tries to still herself, furious at the lapse. “Please be vigilant,” she continues, refusing to be distracted. “If anything happens to you--”

The rest of the words stick in her throat, and Riza falls abruptly silent. She thinks back to Gracia at the funeral, and how she had wondered how it would feel to bury the man you loved.

Colonel Mustang rests a hand on her shoulder. “If anything happens to me, you continue my work,” he instructs, tone deadly serious. “Find justice for Hughes and I, become the leader of this country, and make reparations for Ishval. You’re the only one I trust to do what needs to be done.” 

Riza jerks away from him. “No!” she snaps, shuddering at the thought. “Don’t even say that!” 

Colonel Mustang sighs, running a hand through his hair wearily. “Lieutenant, with the path we’re embarking on, these things have to be said--”

“I love you,” Riza says, through gritted teeth. “I love you more than anything. Do  _ not  _ just stand there and make me think of a life without you.”

Colonel Mustang stares at her, looking utterly taken aback. Finally, tentatively, he reaches a hand toward her. “Riza,” he says, and after all this time, her name sounds unfamiliar on his lips. 

Riza stays still, her mind racing. Now is a worse time than ever. They shouldn’t, now more than ever, with the move to Central and being right under the nose of senior leadership, and with the new purpose that the Colonel has in mind, uncovering the conspiracy, this is a distraction they can’t afford, and--

Roy brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Riza allows the touch. Even that brief brush of his fingertips against her skin makes her tremble. She swallows over her dry throat, watching him watch the movement. 

They move towards each other at the same moment and collide, kissing hard, hungrily. Riza wraps her arms around him, holding him tight, savoring the way he cups her face in his hands, not gently, pulling her even closer. He unclips her hair so that it spills down her back, gripping a handful of it, gently. It feels so good to be touched like this, to have him touch her like this. Riza rakes her fingernails against his back, feeling him shiver underneath the touch, even through the wool of his uniform. The sound of his voice, in the way he repeats her name between kisses,  _ oh, God, Riza,  _ is the sweetest thing she’s ever heard, making her knees go weak, making her melt against him. 

“I should be the one telling you to be careful,” Roy whispers, between kisses. “I can’t lose you. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You never will,” Riza vows, pressing her forehead against his.

Roy pulls back an inch, running the backs of his fingers down her cheek, and there’s such sadness in his dark eyes. “I thought I already did. All this time, with the discussion of the transfer to Central - until our talk this evening, I doubted that you’d come with me. I thought that my absence would let you open a new chapter in your life.”

Riza rests her hands on his chest, caressing his shoulders. She stares at his shoulders instead, because that’s easier. “I’ve made my peace with what happened,” she says quietly. “It was part of my penance, for Ishval.” 

“Riza--”

Riza pulls him to her by the lapels, kissing him again, effectively silencing him. Roy backs her up a step, and the backs of her legs press against the bed. Riza sinks down onto the narrow, too-firm bed, pulling him down with her. It feels so heartbreakingly familiar and right, and she hadn’t realized how much she had yearned for this until now. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel the full weight of that longing until this moment. 

Roy’s hands slip underneath her pajama top, thumbs rubbing slow circles against her lower back and sides, and Riza arches off the mattress, shivering at the feeling of his calloused fingers against her skin. He notices, and pauses like he’s going to pull away, but she takes his wrists and keeps his hands on her. “Don’t stop,” she murmurs. 

“Clothes?” Roy asks, his breathing ragged, his pupils a little dilated. “I don’t want to rip them.”

He had accidentally torn one of her blouses once, years ago, and he’s been hesitant about undressing her since. Riza stops halfway through unbuttoning her top, the realization hitting her hard. “I don’t have the ingredients for my tea,” she says, feeling more than a little foolish.

“We won’t need it,” Roy says shortly. “Not tonight. Not ever. There are plenty of other things we can do that won’t put you at risk.”

Riza wastes no time in pulling the rest of her clothing off, her fingers fumbling on the buttons. She hasn’t been so eager, so in a rush, so dazed with need, in years. Roy watches her hungrily, fingers flexing and relaxing on the sheets with the test of his self-restraint, and he pulls her to him when she’s finished. Her back presses against his chest, the pins and medals on his uniform rubbing against her scars, but she’s distracted by the infinitely better feeling of his teeth scraping against her ear, lips on her neck, hands cupping her breasts, caressing her stomach and hips. Riza turns her flushed face against the pillow, stifling the involuntary noises she makes.

Roy kisses the spot between her shoulder and neck, the spot that she loves, and slips a finger inside her, and then two. Riza moans his name into the pillow, closing her eyes tight, and leans into his touch, and she can’t listen to the words he’s murmuring to her or focus on the sound of his voice washing over her, because then it will be over too quickly, and she just wants this to last.

It still comes to an end too soon, and Riza doesn’t realize that her face is wet with tears until her vision returns and her limbs stop tingling. She lies curled in his arms, throat aching, exhausted and spent to the point of numbness from the physical and emotional release. 

Roy wipes her tears away with infinite tenderness - such a contrast from the cold fury he’s carried since the previous afternoon. She’s sure the anger will be back tomorrow, but for now, she treasures its absence. “I love you too,” he says softly.

Riza gently pushes him onto his back, and he looks at her questioningly - and then closes his eyes as she reciprocates what he had done for her, with her hands and then her mouth. 

They curl up together afterwards. Roy holds her protectively, stroking her hair, and Riza nestles against his chest, one hand pressed against his heart, taking comfort in the steady beat. Maes is gone, and so much is wrong, but there is one thing, at least, that is right. And being near him like this, for one night, at least, she forgets to be afraid.

For the first time in weeks, Riza falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

* * *

_ to be continued _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos on the last chapter! I can't say enough how much I've enjoyed writing this, and it makes me so happy to see that others are enjoying it too. 
> 
> Another note - a few scenes and dialogue out of this chapter were adapted directly from canon; they are not original content.

Riza hadn’t looked forward to the move to Central. East City has been her home for nine years. After so long, she knows it like the back of her hand. Every street, every park, every back alley. Every spot in East City has a memory associated with it. Westgate, where their unit had gotten into a shootout with a drug kingpin and his cronies. Potter Street, where they had investigated the mystery of fourteen bodies found buried in the small backyard of a nondescript home. Achim Plaza, where they had arrested the owner of Brakel’s upon uncovering his involvement in a series of crimes against children. The back alley behind Elterlein’s, where Falman had once done a truly spectacular job of intimidating a gang member into spilling secrets about his boss. Breda and Havoc still do impersonations of Falman’s delivery to this day, which makes Falman blush, Fuery look envious, and Roy beam with pride. 

Cham’s ice cream parlor, a favorite haunt of hers and Rebecca’s. Blomgren’s, the bar near Eastern Command where the unit had gone for dinner and drinks every other Friday. Harmann’s, which has the best lemon chickpea soup Riza has ever had. Trettach Park, Hayate’s absolute favorite place to run and play, and Vollkar Overlook, where she and Roy would occasionally meet for late-night picnics. Riza normally isn’t much for sentiment, but she’s reluctant to leave this place. Especially considering where they are going. Moving to Central feels like walking straight into the lion’s den. 

On their last evening at work at Eastern Command, Riza knocks on Lieutenant General Grumman’s office door. “Come in,” she hears the Lieutenant General call, and she enters. Rebecca is standing next to Grumman’s desk, handing him a series of reports for review.

Riza salutes. “Lieutenant General Grumman, Second Lieutenant Catalina. I apologize if I’m interrupting your work. I won’t be long - I just wanted to give this to Second Lieutenant Catalina.”

Rebecca drops the remaining reports on Grumman’s desk without ceremony and hurries over to her. “Are those for me?” she asks. “Oh, Riza, you shouldn’t have!”

Riza smiles as Rebecca takes the enormous bouquet of flowers, holding them close and breathing deeply, looking enchanted by the scent. “The florist said that yellow roses symbolize friendship,” she says. “I thought it was the perfect choice.” 

Rebecca hugs Riza tightly, crushing the flowers between them. “You shouldn’t have! You’re going to make me cry. Lieutenant General, why did you have to go and sign off on Lieutenant Hawkeye’s transfer?” 

“Colonel Mustang was quite insistent that his entire unit make the transfer to Central with him,” Grumman says mildly. “Since he won our game of chess, I had no choice but to oblige.” 

“I’ll visit whenever I can,” Riza reassures, patting her friend on the back. “And think about it this way - now you always have a place in Central to stay for when you want to have a wild night out in the capital.” 

Rebecca pulls back and sniffles. “Fine. I’ll hold you to that.” 

Riza can’t help but think back to the last time she had seen Roy and Maes together, trading their usual banter, before Maes boarded his train back to Central. The smile fades from her face, and she places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Rebecca.” 

In the interest of confidentiality, she hadn’t been able to reveal much to Rebecca about Maes’s murder and her trip with Roy to Central. But Rebecca is clever, and she had put two and two together with ease. The murder, followed by Roy’s insistence that his whole team be transferred to Central with him. Now, Rebecca looks at her with the understanding she’s always offered. “I will,” she says simply. “You too, okay?”

Grumman clears his throat, and Riza looks over at him, surprised. “Yes, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” he says. “Be safe.”

There’s an unusual seriousness in his expression, something that makes her wonder what Roy had revealed to him during their last talk. Riza salutes them again, and leaves Eastern Command for the last time, her heart heavy.

-

Moving to Central is tedious in all the expected ways. Finding a new place to live, familiarizing herself with a new city, familiarizing herself with the personalities and political intricacies of Central Command. Over her years accompanying Colonel Mustang to Central Command as the occasion demanded it, Riza had learned the key players in Central, from the Fuhrer on down the chain of command. 

But the knowledge gleaned from the occasional few days or one week spent at Central Command is nothing compared to actually being there daily - being _in_ the undercurrents, feeling the ever-shifting political climate around her. It’s almost overwhelming. Riza’s mind works constantly to keep up with the many details to keep track of. Who is suspicious and who has nothing to hide? Who can be trusted and who can’t? Riza shares her thoughts with Roy, and in turn, commits the observations he makes to memory. Who he’s asked about Maes’s murder and what they had to say in response. Every word he’s exchanged with the Fuhrer and other members of the senior leadership, and his notes on their demeanor and responsiveness to his inquiries. 

And there’s the paperwork. There is _so much_ paperwork associated with the transfer of an entire unit from one command center to another. Riza hasn’t encountered anything like it before. It even rivals high-profile court martial cases. 

She’s so busy that there isn’t much opportunity to see Roy outside of work, and when they do get together after hours, it’s to discuss work. Roy takes her hand in his or presses a kiss to her brow, but he’s always preoccupied, a frown darkening his features. He’s single-minded, almost obsessed, with uncovering the conspiracy surrounding the Philosopher’s Stones. The side of him that had been lighthearted, sarcastic, quick with a teasing comment, or a wry smile, vanishes. He’s tense and brusque, and often brooding. 

Riza had expected this, and she accepts it with grace. She knows it’s necessary. But a small, silly part of her misses her old Roy. The sound of him bursting out in laughter, lines appearing around his eyes - he was so vain about those lines, and complained that they would make him look older than his years. She misses the way he’d wrap her in his arms and nuzzle against her ear, flirting outrageously. She misses curling up on the sofa with him and listening to radio dramas or reading books together. 

_Someday,_ Riza tells herself, as she watches over him. _When all of this is over._ They will untangle this conspiracy, identify every official who had been behind it, and hold them all accountable. And then they can have a fresh start.

These are her concerns, in the first days of living in Central. This is what consumes her at work and preoccupies her on her nights away from work.

Then things take a turn for the truly nightmarish. 

Riza has seen plenty of things that have given her nightmares. The atrocities committed in Ishval. Solf Kimblee’s bloody work, his combustion-based alchemy, and what it did to human bodies. Roy setting civilian settlements alight with a single snap of his fingers. The sound of the screams, the smell of the charred bodies. Her own work as a sniper, setting her rifle sights on countless people, and watching them drop like puppets with their strings cut. The horrific telltale signs of a human transmutation attempt at the Elric family home, four years ago. And what Shou Tucker had done to his daughter… 

Yes, she’s seen plenty of terrible things. But Barry the Chopper is something else entirely, as is everything he reveals to her, Falman, and Roy.

Events unfold with relentless speed, after that. It takes ten days - and ten increasingly late-night secret meetings with her unit at Warehouse Five - for them to pull off the deceit involving Maria Ross. All of that while developing the plan to fish out their unseen enemy, using Barry the Chopper as bait. It’s an ambitious, carefully coordinated, tightly-woven plan, on par with their finest work over the past several years. 

They’re all tense, strung a little tight, the way they are whenever working a particularly high-stakes operation. But when everything falls into place one Tuesday evening, Riza feels a sense of detached calm settle over her shoulders like a shawl. She settles her rifle on her shoulder and watches over Havoc and Falman from above, protecting them from the Chopper’s deranged body.

Guarding her team from a good vantage point is as familiar to her as breathing. After Ishval, it had taken months for her to feel comfortable with acting as a sniper again. It’s a simple, childish trick, but thinking of it through the lens of acting to protect her team, rather than acting to neutralize the enemy, does help. It gives her peace, and lets her maintain the calm composure that all snipers need. Riza maintains a perfectly even tone as she chats with Roy over the phone, updating him on the unfolding situation using their code. She hasn’t broken a sweat; her pulse isn’t elevated.

Until the beast comes in. Charging at her from the dark, his eyes gleaming red, mouth open. Riza isn’t conscious of dropping the phone and firing at the monster. It’s the paradox of combat; time seems to slow down and speed up all at once. The body and mind shift into autopilot, adrenaline taking over. 

At first, despite her enemy’s size and massive, inhuman proportions, Riza isn’t afraid. She is the Hawk’s Eye, and nothing on the battlefield scares her. But she empties clip after clip into him, and he’s unfazed. Then he wraps his enormous hands around her, crushing the air out of her, lifting her off the ground as if she’s nothing more than a rag doll. _Then_ the fear comes. 

She’s shot him in several places. There’s blood all over the floor. She should have killed him thrice over. Red sparks dance along his face as he leers at her, and Riza chokes as he tightens his grip. As hard as she tries to maintain her hold on her gun, the pressure is too much. She can’t breathe, and blackness creeps into her vision. She hears her gun clatter to the ground. She feels naked without it, and vulnerable, and petrified with terror like she’s never been before.

“Are you all done now?” the thing asks. He has a strangely childish voice that contradicts his inhuman size and strength. “Then it’s time to eat you!”

The words take a second to sink in, and then there’s the dawning horror of _oh god he means that literally._ He opens his mouth, his massive, massive mouth, and Riza can smell his breath and see the tattoo on his pink tongue. She writhes, horrified, powerless. With what little strength and presence of mind she has left, she can’t help but think of Roy. She hopes that this beast doesn’t leave a mess behind. She doesn’t want him to see her like that. 

Riza hears a familiar bark, and her heart leaps with relief and terror at once. Hayate charges into the room, leaping onto the monster’s back, and sinks his teeth into the back of his neck.

The thing cries out, and it flings her through the air. Riza slams against the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of her, stunning her. It’s an effort to drag herself up, but then Fuery’s running in, tossing her a gun, and there’s no sweeter relief than a fully loaded gun in her hand. Riza positions herself at his side, infinitely grateful for the backup, and they fire at the beast together. The beast staggers back underneath the onslaught of bullets, getting closer and closer to the window, and--

Her gun clicks, echoed by Fuery’s. Riza has time to trade a brief, panicked look with the young Master Sergeant as the red lightning sparks around the beast’s body again, healing it. 

“Bullets gone?” The hideous thing asks hopefully. “Goody, goody! I get to have dinner _and_ dessert!”

The jet of flame and electricity sears the room, arcing perfectly between her and Fuery. It hits the monster directly in the chest, blasting him out of the clock tower, through the window, its agonized scream echoing in the air. Riza whirls to see Roy leaning against the stone doorframe, breathing hard, eyes narrowed with focus. “I barely made it,” he says, all the breath leaving his body in a sigh. 

Riza blinks, the reality of the situation colliding with her. He’s here, and he had saved them from certain death, but he’s _here._ Their enemies have already found them once today, and if they return, they will see him here and have incontrovertible proof that Colonel Roy Mustang is working against them. And what do their enemies do to soldiers who work to uncover this conspiracy? They end up dead in a phone booth on a pleasant summer evening.

It’s unprofessional and insubordinate, but Riza’s temper flares. “Colonel, why the hell did you leave your post?” she demands. “No matter what happened to us, you could have still kept your involvement in this a secret! That was the whole idea, right? But you just came waltzing in here, plain as day. Are you a complete idiot?”

Roy huffs, exasperated. “Yeah, fine, fine. That’s it. I’m an idiot. Happy?” 

She isn't. They send Fuery and Hayate off to strike the camp, and retreat from the tower, making their way down the dark stairwell. Riza’s heart is hammering in her chest, and she instructs herself to stay focused, _stay focused_. She keeps remembering the beast covered in bullet wounds and blood and not dying. The pressure of his hands on her throat. The way he had threatened to eat her, pulling her towards his mouth as it opened wider, jaws unhinging… 

Riza shudders, glad for the cover of the darkness. She’s even grateful for Roy’s strong, steadying presence - though for his own continued safety, he shouldn’t be with them. He walks briskly just ahead of her, constantly checking their peripherals in case of another attack, shoulders tense. 

“Colonel,” she says. 

“What is it?” 

“Thanks for saving us back there.” 

“Tell me later,” Roy replies, his concentration unwavering. “Let’s stay focused on the mission for now.”

Riza takes the briefest moment to imagine _later._ His arms around her, his voice softer, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. It gives her solace. She savors that instant, and then puts the thought out of her mind for now. She can’t help but smile softly. “Yes, sir.” 

They get the car and pick up Havoc and Alphonse. Alphonse gives the monsters a name - _homunculus -_ as Riza reloads her guns, finding grim purpose in placing each bullet in the chamber. The healing powers Alphonse mentions are a concern. For the first time, she truly wishes she’d had the aptitude for alchemy that her father had so badly wanted her to have. Her bullets will do nothing against these creatures, except buy an alchemist time to act and do some real damage. 

They arrive at the third laboratory and descend into its dark depths. Riza hates the idea of splitting up, especially the idea of her being unable to accompany Colonel Mustang, but someone needs to keep an eye on Alphonse. At the end of the day, his imposing suit of armor aside, he is still less capable of a combatant and more vulnerable than Colonel Mustang. She and Alphonse follow the long, curving hallways of the laboratory until they enter a massive white room. Barry the Chopper stands over the mangled remains of his body, and Riza gasps, taken aback.

“Sorry, but you got here too late.” Barry stares down at his body. “Look at this mess. My body is damn near entirely decayed. I guess a body can’t hold up with someone else’s soul being shoved inside of it.”

Alphonse follows his gaze. “If a soul is incompatible with someone else’s armor, wouldn’t it be the same for a soul bonded to a suit of armor?” he asks plaintively. “If that’s right, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to stay in this form long enough to get our old bodies back.” 

Before Riza can respond, say something encouraging, she hears footsteps. High heels clicking on the hard floor. She whirls around, leveling her gun at the woman who has just entered the laboratory. Behind her, Barry chuckles. “I was wondering when you were going to show up, Lust.” 

“Number 66,” the woman - Lust - says coldly. “Care to explain why you’re helping the Colonel?”

“I thought it would be fun to switch things up,” Barry replies, brandishing his cleaver. “Besides, I’ve wanted to chop you up since I met you.”

Lust stares back at him impassively. “You’re such a handful, 66. And I’m sad to see you here, armor boy. You just had to tag along.” She pouts. “Talk about a setback. It’s bad enough to lose one, but now you’re forcing me to kill a second candidate.”

“Candidate?” Alphonse asks, mirroring Riza’s confusion. “A second one?” 

A flicker of mirth crosses Lust’s face. “Yeah. You and Mr. Gallantry.” 

Alarm rises in Riza, but before she can demand answers, Barry rushes forward at the woman. “That’s enough of the casual chit-chat! All I want to hear are your screams!”

It happens so fast that Riza almost doesn’t see it. Lust unsheathes massive claws, tearing Barry to shreds with a single swipe, shattering him into a hundred pieces. She watches dispassionately as he clatters to the floor. “I do hate overconfident men,” she muses, before directing her attention to Riza and Alphonse. “Now then, where were we? I think I was about to send the Lieutenant to join her superior.” 

Her body seems to react to the woman’s statement before her mind comprehends its meaning. A tremor runs through the hand that’s gripping her gun, though she doesn’t drop it. “Wait a minute,” Riza says, trying to hide how shaken she is, and failing. “When you say you’ve already had to kill someone…”

Lust doesn’t respond. She just continues her slow, inexorable advance, that infuriating smirk still curving her lips. A pit of dread opens up in Riza’s stomach. She’s studied body language for years. There’s no sign of deceit on the other woman’s face, no sign of a bluff. 

“It can’t be.” The dread mounts, fury rising with it. “You didn’t!”

Lust remains silent. She smiles, self-satisfied and truly evil, and suddenly Riza understands how Roy had felt when he learned about Maes. White-hot rage surges inside her, and she howls out in mingled fury and agony. She empties clip after clip into the woman, gun after gun, riddling her with bullet holes, knocking her back several feet. Yet Lust stands up, red lightning playing across her body just like it had with the other creature. Leaving her whole, unharmed. “Are you done?” she asks, bored. 

She can’t even avenge him. 

Riza’s knees give out under her. She doesn’t even care that she’s weeping, or that Lust has unsheathed her massive claws. Let this be over quickly, at least. She hears the clanking of armor, and she looks up to see Alphonse moving in front of her, shielding her with his own body. “Stand up, Lieutenant,” he says. “You need to get out of here.”

She doesn’t want to get out of here. She can't walk out of this building and leave Roy to be carried out. “Listen, Alphonse,” Riza manages, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes wearily. “Leave me and save yourself.” 

He refuses at once, and she tries again. “Please go--”

“I won’t leave you!” Alphonse insists. “I’m sick of watching people die. I can’t just sit back and take it anymore. I won’t let anyone else get killed, not when I can protect them.”

“Well spoken.” The voice is low, and seething with fury, and it’s impossible. Riza wonders whether her mind has snapped under the strain and she is hallucinating. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Then comes the blast of flame, searing hot, and there’s no way she’s hallucinating that. It consumes Lust, and she screams out in pain. When the flames subside, she’s whole and intact. “You should have bled to death by now,” she hisses, staring at her new opponent.

“You told me I couldn’t kill you, but I’d like to prove you wrong,” Roy says tersely. “So, let’s see. How many times is it going to take?”

He sears the room again and again, and Alphonse moves to protect her. Even around his armor, Riza can still see Lust burning, skin crumbling and crisping away, the flesh and bone of her face revealed. It’s such a horrifying sight that despite her hatred, she cries out, _no._

There isn’t a scrap of mercy in him, not an instant of weakening of resolve, despite Lust’s suffering and her pleas. Roy incinerates her anyway, striking her until she literally dissolves to ash. He staggers and collapses to the ground in the next moment, hitting the ground with a thud. Riza pulls herself up and runs to him, kneeling at his side. “Colonel,” she gasps, blinking her tears away. 

With effort, Roy turns his head to her, and he actually, faintly, smiles at the sight of her. “Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Forget about me,” Riza says, wishing she knew more field medicine - but he’s not bleeding from any wound that she can see, and internal bleeding is beyond the realm of field medicine. “We need to get you some help.” 

Alphonse comes to join them, and Roy looks at him and smiles. “Thanks, Alphonse. Thank you for looking after my subordinate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alphonse says anxiously. “We need to call you a doctor.”

Roy’s eyes drift shut. “Hurry. We need a doctor for Havoc. Please.” 

The next hours feel surreal. The medics arrive and carry Roy and Havoc out on stretchers. They take them to the hospital, allowing Riza to ride along in the back, beside both unconscious men. She longs to take Roy’s hand, to smooth his hair away from his eyes, so she sits with her hands pressed between her knees. She’s barely aware of how one of the medics drapes a blanket over her shoulders, or of the fact that her teeth chatter when she doesn’t clench her jaw.

Falman and Fuery meet her at the hospital, and they back her up when she insists that Roy and Havoc have to be watched over, even as they receive emergency treatment. The three of them stand a silent vigil over the next three hours, first in the surgery center and then in the recovery room. Riza is so overwhelmed that she can’t quite comprehend anything that the doctors say after _They’re going to be fine._ She sees Falman listening intently, nodding along, and knows that she can ask him for details later.

The doctors leave. Riza stares at Roy and Havoc, listening to the beeping of the machines that they are hooked up to, the way the glowing red lines on their pulse monitors move up and down. It’s reassuring and oddly hypnotic. 

“Lieutenant,” Falman says, and Riza looks over at him. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat, or a cup of tea?” 

Riza shakes her head. “I need to be here,” she replies. “I need to keep watch.”

“Fuery and I will stand guard over the Colonel and Havoc. You look like you’re about to collapse.” 

“Yeah, Lieutenant,” Fuery chimes in, looking worried. “You need to take care of yourself. We can’t have another one of us down, especially since Breda isn’t back yet.”

There’s sense in what they’re saying, and Riza nods mechanically. “Yes,” she says. “Would you two like me to bring you anything from the cafe?”

Falman and Fuery exchange glances. “We’ll take turns going down, after you’re back,” Falman says. “Just go eat something. Take some time for yourself.”

Riza stops in the bathroom on the way down to the cafeteria. She turns on the water to wash her hands, but it comes out hot, not warm. Involuntarily, she thinks back to Roy’s flames and the homunculus woman, Lust, burning before her eyes, and her agonized shrieks. She flinches violently and jerks the handle on the faucet until the water flows ice cold, making her hands numb. She splashes water on her face and barely recognizes her reflection staring back at her. Nearly chalk-white skin, dark circles under her eyes, a sore spot on her lip from where she must have bitten it while Roy and Havoc were in surgery. 

The hospital cafeteria is empty, at this hour. It’s close to midnight and she should be hungry or thirsty after not eating for twelve hours, but she has no appetite. Riza buys a sandwich and a cup of lukewarm soup and eats both unenthusiastically. She curls her hands around her mug of tea, breathing in the weak chamomile scent. Her head and her eyes throb under the fluorescent lights. Whether she closes her eyes or keeps them open, the flashbacks to the tower, and to the depths of the third laboratory, are relentless.

“Lieutenant?”

Riza opens her aching eyes. It takes her a moment to register Fuery, standing beside her table, looking at her anxiously. “Master Sergeant,” she says, half standing up. “Is everything all right?”

“The Colonel and Havoc are fine,” Fuery says hastily, sliding into the booth across from her. “I just wanted to come down to check on you.”

“Have I been gone for long?” Riza asks, looking around for a clock. “I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. You both must be hungry too.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Fuery insists, and he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “I just came down to see if you were all right.”

Riza tries to force a smile. “I’m…” she starts. _Fine,_ is what she wants to say. But the word doesn’t come. She just stares into her mug of tea. “A disgrace,” she whispers, finally, the bitter words clawing their way out of her throat.

Fuery almost jumps. “What? No, you’re not!”

“I am.” Riza puts her head in her hands. “I didn’t keep the Colonel and Havoc safe. I failed them.”

“You and Al were in a completely different part of the lab from them!” Fuery argues. “We split up all the time on missions, and you can’t blame yourself for something that happened when you weren’t even covering the same area.” 

Riza shakes her head, wiping at her eyes angrily. “That’s not even the worst part. When our enemy told me that she killed Colonel Mustang… I completely fell apart. I lost the will to fight. I put Alphonse at risk. He could have died because of how I reacted, Fuery. What would that have done to Edward?” She puts her head in her hands again, unable to bear Fuery’s compassion. She doesn’t deserve it. “I’m trash,” she mumbles. “I’m a disgrace. I should resign my commission tomorrow. Today.” 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, that is _not true,_ ” Fuery says emphatically. He reaches over and puts his hand on hers, patting it until she looks up at him, blinking her tears away. “You’re not trash. You’re not a disgrace. You’re a great soldier and teammate.”

“How can you say that, when I did what I did?”

“Would you call the Colonel a disgrace?” Fuery asks sharply, pulling back. “Would you say that he should resign his commission?” 

“What?” Riza asks, startled. “No!”

“Colonel Mustang reacted in basically the same way you did,” Fuery says shortly. “He left his post to come help you when he knew you were in danger, and made the whole _secret_ mission not so secret. You even called him out for it back at the tower.”

Back at the tower… It seems like an eternity ago. Riza nods. “Yeah,” she says, lowering her gaze to the table. It isn’t the point that Fuery was trying to make, but they had both behaved unprofessionally today. This is the reason why the anti-fraternization regulations exist. She and Roy have brazenly flouted those regulations for all of these years, acting like the regulations didn't apply to them, because they were so mature and professional and good at compartmentalizing and they would _never_ let their relationship after hours impact their work. The consequences of that behavior have finally come home to roost, at the worst possible time. 

“So don’t beat yourself up too much about what happened in the laboratory. It makes sense, considering…” Fuery trails off, somewhat awkwardly. 

In eight years, their unit has been nothing but tactful; as tactful as she and Roy have been discreet. Havoc teases Roy about the many “dates” that he goes on and bemoans his own comparative lack of luck in the romantic department, and nobody asks Roy why those dates have never translated to a serious relationship. Breda, Havoc, Fuery, and Falman all exchange their war stories from the dating world, but none of them ever asks her about whether she’s seeing anyone. Not a single one of them raises an eyebrow or asks any questions when their Colonel never brings one of his many previous dates to the annual military ball, choosing instead to bring his adjutant. _Someone needs to keep me in check, after all,_ he says flippantly, year after year.

This is the closest she’s ever gotten to an open discussion with anyone about this. It is uncomfortable, but when Riza looks up at Fuery, there is nothing in the young soldier’s face but compassion. She takes his hand, and squeezes it. “Thank you,” she says softly. “Now come on. Let me get you and Falman something to eat.” 

-

They spend the night in the hospital, leaving only to take brief showers and freshen up. Riza is there when Roy awakens, and to say that he is displeased with her would be an understatement.

“You’re an idiot,” Roy snaps, glaring at her. “It’s bad enough that you believed her in the first place, but then you gave up?”

Riza inclines her head, feeling her cheeks burn. Eight years on his unit, and this is the first time he has ever had cause to reprimand her. They’ve argued before, always about the same things. _I can take care of myself, and I don’t need you to come in and save me when we’re in the middle of a fight -_ she’s lost count of how many times Roy has snapped at her over that. Similarly, she’s lost count of how many times she’s flared up at him about the unnecessary risks he takes with his own life and safety. 

Those hadn’t been serious incidents, though. They had been little spats, which their teammates had rolled their eyes over. Not like this. His words sting, on two different levels. They are a harsh rebuke from her commander, and that is hard to bear in itself. They are also uncharacteristically sharp words from her lover, and that brings its own kind of pain.

“Please forgive me, Colonel,” she says. 

Roy narrows his eyes at her. “You’ve got to stay strong,” he orders, and Riza has the uncomfortable knowledge that he’s consciously speaking from a professional and personal perspective. “And don’t you _ever_ give up on living. I need to know that you can keep your cool, no matter what happens.” 

Riza tries not to flinch at the reminder of her behavior last evening. She had never imagined that she’d lose her composure like that on the field. “Yes, sir.”

Roy closes his eyes, leaning back against his pillows. “I’m going to continue to rely on you to watch my back. Don’t let me down.” 

Riza hears the words left unsaid, what he had tried to get her to agree to after Maes’s funeral. _If anything happens to me, you continue my work. Find justice for Hughes and I, become the leader of this country, and make reparations for Ishval. You’re the only one I trust to do what needs to be done._

“You ought to think about taking your own advice, Colonel,” Havoc says from the next bed over, opening his eyes. “Since you’re the one who abandoned your post.” 

Roy unleashes his temper on Havoc spectacularly, and Riza is grateful for the intervention; for the respite, however brief, from work. 

There is no respite over the days that come. Roy’s suspicion that Central Command and the Fuhrer are involved with the entire homunculus business is all-consuming. It plagues him, along with the guilt over what happened to Havoc. Between maintaining her usual work duties, making the subtle inquiries necessary for their investigation of the homunculi, and watching over Roy and Havoc at the hospital, there isn’t a moment of rest. 

Riza loses herself in worry. About the conspiracy and what it means for the people of Amestris, who have been abused enough at the hands of the military. Soldiers and State Alchemists had been used as weapons against the people once, and hadn’t that been enough? Hadn’t they destroyed and ruined enough lives? Which group in Amestris is going to fall victim next, like Ishval had fallen? Civilians hadn’t stood a chance against the military and against the State Alchemists. They’ll be decimated by the homunculi. 

She worries about Havoc’s state of mind, his injury, and his discharge from the military. She worries about Roy, who is trying his best to keep on top of everything, but is taking everything poorly - the deepening conspiracy, and Havoc’s injury. He demands to be released early from the hospital, against medical advice and against her better judgment. 

The only comfort Riza gets is during her walks with Hayate, which take place at more odd hours now. They walk at the crack of dawn, and very late at night. She takes comfort in the sound of his small paws padding against the sidewalk, and the alert, joyful expression in his deep brown eyes. “I love you,” she tells him every night, stroking the soft fur on his head as his tail wags blissfully. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

They return home from a walk late one night, and the second Riza opens her apartment door, Hayate goes charging inside, launching himself at the man standing by the window. 

Riza pales when she sees who her guest is, and she closes and locks the door quickly. “Colonel,” she says, out of force of habit, because they haven’t been alone together in weeks. “What’s wrong?”

Roy shakes his head. He had changed out of his uniform and into civilian clothes, complete with that favorite black overcoat of his. He looks simultaneously on edge and weary, the way he has every day since waking up after the incident in the laboratory. “Nothing,” he says, crossing over to her, and pressing a kiss to her brow. “Everything. As usual.” 

Riza sighs, resting a hand on his chest and leaning into him. For a moment, she forgets her anger at him for choosing to check himself out of the hospital earlier today. Roy places a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. “I came to apologize,” he says. “For what I said to you on that first morning after what happened at the lab. I was shaken by everything that happened to Havoc, and what almost happened to you and Alphonse. I was overly harsh.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Riza replies, looking up at him. “I deserved every word of it, and more.”

Roy brushes the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he murmurs. “As Havoc pointed out, I made my share of mistakes that day as well. Except…” he sighs. “I don’t think of it as a mistake. You were in danger, and I did the only thing I could. I’d do the same thing again tomorrow.”

“Oh, Roy.” Riza closes her eyes, feeling the full weight of the situation settle on her shoulders. 

“What is it?”

Riza takes his hand, leading him to the sofa, and sinks down on it. “In the past weeks, I’ve truly realized why the anti-fraternization regulations exist,” she says. “Do you ever feel that way?”

Roy laughs the way he does nowadays - a short, sharp, humorless sound. “I reflected on it briefly while I ran out of Central Command, making no effort to be discreet, and then ran three red lights on the way to the tower, yeah. And when I felt terrible in multiple different ways after I yelled at you that morning.” 

Riza stares down at their interlaced fingers. “It feels like a trial by fire, doesn’t it?” she asks softly. “We’ve never been in so deep before. We’ve done major operations as a unit, but nothing as drawn-out as this. Nothing this high-stakes. Nothing that has affected _us_ so much.” 

Roy runs his thumb over her knuckles and remains quiet for a few moments. “I’ve neglected you, haven’t I,” he says, and it isn’t a question. “I’m sorry.” 

Riza shrugs. “It’s completely understandable,” she replies. “Considering everything. I’m your lieutenant first, Colonel.”

“Yes.” Roy hesitates. “It doesn’t feel that way, sometimes.”

“It certainly doesn’t.” 

They look into each other’s eyes in silent understanding. Roy cups the back of her head in his hand, weaving his fingers through her hair. He gently draws her close, until her forehead rests against the hollow of his neck. “What’s on your mind?” he asks softly. “What can I do for you tonight?”

There is so much Riza wants to say. 

_Your anger worries me more and more and scares me, a little. You’re walking the fine line between focus and dedication and obsession, and straying towards obsession more often than not. You’re not being cautious enough in your investigation, and the bold moves that you’re planning on making are dangerous. I’m worried that this search for the truth is going to get you killed, or strip away more of the man you were. The man I swore to always follow, and who I fell in love with._

But those will be more difficult, painful conversations, and maybe it’s cowardly of her, but she’s had enough difficulty and pain of late. 

“Just hold me,” Riza replies. “That will be enough.”

And he does.

-

The situation devolves at a rapid pace as of the next morning. Edward endangers himself and Alphonse in a plan to lure Scar and Gluttony out. The hours that follow fly by in a surge of adrenaline - hunting and capturing Gluttony, rescuing the young Xingese woman, Lan Fan, and taking her to the safe house, Gluttony’s escape and rampage through the forest, fleeing with Lan Fan and Dr. Knox and the Colonel to the second safe house. After all of it, the last thing Riza wants is to go along with her Colonel’s plan to return to Central Command in an attempt to secure allies against the top brass and the homunculi inside the military. They need to rest and recoup and plan their next steps, and _not_ take the risk of exposing what they know to people who could reveal their work to the top brass. 

But Riza can see that Roy’s mind is made up, and she doesn’t argue. Not until they get to Central Command, and he tells her to stay back. “Wait here, Lieutenant,” he says. “If anything happens to me, at least you’ll have a chance of getting out alive.”

He turns and heads for the entrance, as if that had been a perfectly reasonable statement to make. “No, sir,” Riza replies calmly.

Roy turns to her, looking almost as irritated as he had in the hospital when she had tried to convince him to remain under medical care. “That was an order.”

“One that I cannot obey.”

“You’re a stubborn one,” Roy says, exasperated, as if this is brand new knowledge to him. As if he hasn’t known this for nearly half of his life. 

Riza raises an eyebrow. “You’ve always known that, sir.” 

Roy sighs, but then relents, even giving her a smile. “All right. Will you stay here if I promise to come back?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and salutes him. 

Riza expects to wait a couple of hours. She waits all night. She spends the first few hours processing everything that has happened that day, everything that’s happened this week, everything that’s happened since they moved to Central. She spends the next couple trying to control the anxiety surging inside her. She works hard to suppress the mental image of Roy slumped in a chair, a bullet wound in his forehead, blood pooling on the floor and staining his uniform. 

In the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise, Riza remembers the order Roy had given her. _You’ve got to stay strong. And don’t you ever give up on living._

It’s likely that he is dead. The Riza of a week ago would have sunk to her knees on the pavement, sobbing. Now, she keeps standing straight, jaw clenched, hand resting on her gun for comfort. She has to stay strong for him. She can’t give up. She doesn’t want to disappoint him again. She has to make him proud. 

That is what is on her mind when Fuery runs up to her, calling her name. “I received a memo from the Personnel Bureau,” he says without preamble, clutching a piece of paper, breathing hard. “I’m being transferred to the Southern Command Center.”

“They transferred you?” Riza gasps. It’s confirmation of her worst fears. It had happened so soon - how had it happened so soon? Roy had entered Central Command last night, only around twelve hours ago. 

Fuery nods unhappily. “And I’m not the only one. Breda’s being sent to Western Command. And Warrant Officer Falman is being sent to Northern Command.”

Their close-knit unit, scattered to the corners of Amestris. Riza just stares, horrified, her exhausted mind struggling to comprehend the news. Before she can reply, they’re approached by a couple of other officers. Men she doesn’t recognize, most likely from the Personnel Department. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye?” the taller one asks.

“Yes, sir,” Riza says, forcing her voice to remain collected, her salute steady.

“I’m Yakovlev, from Personnel,” he says, confirming her suspicions. _Am I being transferred_? Riza thinks, trying not to panic. She’s never imagined her life in the military without serving under Roy. Can she find a way to resign and still continue his work?

“And my name is Sterch,” the other man adds. “I’m the personal assistant to Fuhrer Bradley. I need you to take this.” 

He holds out an envelope to her, and Riza ignores it. “Am I being reassigned, sir?” she asks coldly. 

“That’s correct.”

Riza decides to take the paperwork, her mind racing. With Fuery in the south, Falman in the north, Breda in the west, and Grumman and Rebecca in the east - and Havoc, even though he’s retired - she still has friends and allies at bases around Amestris. She stares down at the transfer order, and the words blur together under her tired eyes, making no sense. What she’s reading can’t be right. “What is this?” she demands, fear welling up inside her. “This can’t be right! Are you sure that these are my orders?

“Where are they sending you?” Fuery asks, concerned.

Riza looks at the paperwork again, willing it to say something different. It remains, mercilessly, the same. “First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye is to report for duty at Central Command Center,” she manages. “As personal assistant to Fuhrer Bradley.” 

It’s the worst possible torment. Ordered to work for somebody who had, most likely, murdered her commander and the love of her life. Riza steels herself, gritting her teeth, and bites back a scream. She forces herself to see the one silver lining of this. As personal assistant to Fuhrer Bradley, she’ll be alone with him for at least part of every work day. She’ll have the opportunity to avenge Roy. Bradley doesn’t deserve something as quick and clean as a bullet to the head - and if he is a homunculus, then that would have no effect on him anyway. Maybe a slow-acting poison in his coffee, something that will destroy him from the inside out, would be more effective. 

“Very well,” Riza says, folding the paper and handing it back to Sterch. She doesn’t recognize her own voice. “Orders received.”

“Come with us, Master Sergeant,” Yakovlev orders Fuery. “We’ll give you your briefing for the Southern Command Center.”

Fuery has no choice but to follow, looking back at her miserably. Riza raises a hand in farewell, trying to be brave for him. Her hand shakes.

She stands there, alone. Her stomach cramps, like she’s going to vomit, and her knees feel weak. It’s a bright, sunny morning, but she’s so cold. She wraps her arms around herself. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye?” 

Riza would recognize that voice anywhere. She looks up to the towering figure standing beside her, snapping her feet together and her right arm into a salute. There’s an expression of concern on Major Armstrong’s face. “At ease. What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

“Waiting for Colonel Mustang, sir,” Riza forces herself to say. She’ll be waiting for the rest of her life.

Major Armstrong studies her, taking notice of her pallor, the shadows under her eyes. “You don’t look like your usual self, Lieutenant.” 

“It’s been a long night, sir,” Riza says, her voice barely audible. She’s always liked Armstrong, and Roy does too. She wonders whether she can confide in him. If she’s going to remain at Central, trapped in close contact with Bradley, it would be helpful for her to have an ally. She needs some time to think this over. 

Major Armstrong’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve been out here all night? But why?” 

It’s unlike her, but Riza makes up her mind in a split second. “I’ll tell you soon, sir,” she says. “Would you mind waiting here for a moment?” 

“No, of course.”

Riza makes her way to the women’s bathroom, which is mercifully deserted. She dry heaves over the toilet, her empty stomach and the extraordinary strain of the past days catching up with her. Then she staggers to the sink and splashes cold water on her face, swallowing several gulps of water afterwards. She takes deep, steadying breaths, staring at her reflection. _Be the professional you are,_ she tells herself. _Be the good soldier you’ve always been. There’s work to be done._

She returns to the front of the building, and as she turns a corner, she blinks, stunned by the sight of Roy standing there, arms braced against the building, panting as if he’s been running. He looks exhausted and out of sorts, but whole and healthy and _alive._ It takes all of Riza’s self-control to not throw her arms around him, and to refrain from demanding to know where he’s been all night and what has happened. 

“Colonel?” she asks, and Roy looks up at her, appearing as startled as she feels.

“Lieutenant,” he says, surprise and relief in his voice, and Riza wonders whether he knows about Bradley’s orders for the unit. 

“I was getting worried--” Riza starts, and then abruptly remembering Major Armstrong is still standing there. 

Roy glances around, surveying their surroundings, and - under the guise of finding a more appropriate parking spot - invites her and Major Armstrong for a short drive. He parks in a shadowy side street, and does exactly what she was thinking, telling Armstrong everything. The three of them stay in the car, talking things over, for as long as they can without arousing suspicion. Finally, Riza drives them back to Central Command. She and Roy stay in the car, watching Armstrong depart in silence. His shoulders are bowed, as if carrying a tremendous weight, his demeanor downcast.

Roy looks over at her. He takes a risk that neither of them would have ever taken before, and puts his hand on hers, right there in the parking lot of Central Command, in broad daylight. Instinct screams at her to pull away, but Riza intertwines her fingers with his instead. 

“It’s easy for me to keep calm, for myself,” Roy says, staring down at their hands. “But when I think about you working in such close contact with Bradley, day in and day out, it’s all I can do not to lose it.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Riza says at once, trying to soothe him.

Roy looks at her bleakly. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Riza squeezes his hand, swallowing over the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “For the fact that this has compromised your work. For being used against you like this. I’ve put you in a terrible position. If I knew this was a risk, I would never have--”

“Don’t apologize,” Roy says quietly. “It’s an unfortunate situation, but we’ll find a way to cope. Would you really undo these last eight years, anyway? If you knew this was how everything would turn out?” 

“I…” Riza falters, and maybe it makes her an unfit soldier and professional, but she finally gives a small shake of her head.

“Me neither.”

They exchange a long look, and in that moment, there’s nothing that Riza wants more than to climb into the backseat with him and go to sleep, curled in each other’s arms. 

“Come on,” Roy says gently, releasing her hand. “We should go in. I’ll get you breakfast and a coffee. You look like you need it. And then…” He runs a hand through his hair, obviously worn out. “We’ll head back to the office and I’ll help you and the rest of the unit pack your things.” 

Riza nods, and braces herself for the days ahead. Their trial by fire is just beginning. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was interesting to write. I liked exploring how Roy and Riza's professional relationship is complicated by their personal relationship. I noticed while rewatching content for this chapter that there are a few places throughout canon where Riza shares her opinions and concerns with Roy, and her reservations about his plans and actions, but he does what he thinks is best. Riza always backs him up because of her professional (and likely personal) devotion and loyalty, but I imagine that she must have spent a lot of time frustrated and worried. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everybody who left kudos and comments on the previous chapter. It makes me so delighted to read comments!
> 
> Another note - a few scenes and dialogue out of this chapter were adapted directly from canon; they are not original content.

The weeks that follow are some of the strangest of Riza’s life. 

Working as the Fuhrer’s personal assistant, while knowing what he is, with the understanding that Bradley knows that she’s aware of the truth. At first, Riza hopes that her position as assistant to the Fuhrer will allow her access to helpful information that she can discreetly pass on to the Colonel, but Bradley is too careful for that. He gives her the most trivial of tasks, and she walks a strange tightwire of being on edge at all times, despite the Fuhrer’s perfect courtesy to her, despite being engaged in utter monotony. 

Riza is grateful for every time she can escape the Fuhrer’s side and walk the halls of Central Command, off on some small paperwork-delivering errand or another. She avoids predictability and patterns in the timing of her courier duties and the routes she takes through Central Command, not wishing to be obvious to the Fuhrer. Of course, Roy knows her much better than Bradley or any of his allies ever could. They pass by one another in the hallways of Central Command or in the mess hall every day, for just a few fleeting moments.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Roy always greets, giving her a small nod, and she salutes him and says she hopes he is well. 

That is what they are reduced to. Momentary interactions in passing, and innocuous phone calls to check in with one another after work hours, under the guise of asking about flowers, what theatre company is in town tonight, or requesting a recommendation for a place to eat. On one level, it’s a torment. On another, these quick interactions are proof that Roy is still alive and well, and Bradley hasn’t decided to have him killed for what he knows. Every time Riza sees the Colonel walking down the hallway or sitting in the mess hall, she breathes a tiny sigh of relief. 

Riza doesn’t take the risk of trying to communicate with him in any meaningful way until the day after the nightmarish encounter with Selim Bradley. Pride. Roy takes a seat across from her in the mess hall, clearly having picked up on how shaken she had been during their phone call last night. She passes on the coded message she had carefully crafted, feeling sick with anxiety, half-expecting the shadows beneath her to shift and grab her and slice at her skin like they had before.

But nothing happens. Not for the rest of the day, and not that night, either. The following day at work, Bradley doesn’t act like anything is amiss. Riza takes her lunch break and sits in the mess hall, prodding at her meatloaf halfheartedly, lost in thought about the Elric brothers and their activities up north. She hears a familiar someone clear his throat, and she looks up to see Roy standing at her table, holding a lunch tray. “Hello, Lieutenant,” he says. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, sir. Please go ahead.”

Roy sits across from her at the narrow table. Their knees touch, and Riza exhales shallowly, taking comfort from the small contact. 

“What a sorry excuse for meatloaf,” Roy says, poking his lunch with a fork. “It makes me think back to that team dinner we had at the Karlton Cafe a few months ago. Now  _ they  _ knew how to make meatloaf.”

“Yes,” Riza says, immediately picking up on his meaning. The Karlton Cafe is in the same neighborhood as Chris Mustang’s bar. “It was excellent. A perfect choice for a rainy night like that one.”

She meets Roy’s gaze, and she can see him connect the dots. They’re expecting rain this Friday night. They both know that. Keeping on top of the news, from any significant geopolitical events, to the things as banal as weather forecasts for different parts of Amestris, has always been an essential aspect of their unit’s covert communication system. 

“I hope that my apartment building doesn’t lose power,” Riza continues. “I remember last time we had a storm, the entire second floor of the building had a blackout.”

“How unfortunate. That must have been frightening.”

“I didn’t mind it. I’m not afraid of the dark.” Riza shrugs. “Actually, I found it peaceful.”

Roy nods slowly. “I see.” 

Riza stands up. “Well, it’s that time of day again,” she says. Code for  _ ten at night,  _ their usual meeting time. “I have to resume my duties. Have a good afternoon, Colonel.” 

“It was nice to see you, Lieutenant. As always.”

-

Riza had never enjoyed rainy days or nights before. She found them grim, and resented how they shortened her walks with Hayate. She worried a little extra for the Colonel every rainy day, as well - he’s useless in the rain, and always forgets that in combat. 

Friday is the first rainy day she’s experienced since her disturbing confrontation with Pride. Just as she had expected, the unceasing, heavy rain and the slate-gray, overcast skies bring with them pure liberation. No sunlight. No moonlight. No shadows.  _ Safety.  _ She savors the sensation.

Riza leaves her apartment at nine-thirty, dressed in a gray skirt and a pale blue sweater Roy had given her, and bearing an umbrella. She takes a taxi to the Karlton Cafe, and it’s a short walk from there to Madame Christmas’s bar. She approaches the back door and knocks twice. 

Chris Mustang herself opens the door, hastily ushering Riza inside. It’s warm and dry, and that would have once been blissful relief for her. Even as she returns Chris’s embrace, Riza’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the shadows cast by the furniture.

“All the lights are out on the second floor,” Chris murmurs. “He’s in the first bedroom on the right.” 

“Thank you.” Riza kisses Chris on the cheek. 

She almost runs to the safety of the dark stairwell, carefully making her way up the stairs, grasping the railing. As a bodyguard, she had once loathed dark spaces, convinced that they hid any number of dangers to the Colonel’s person. Now, this kind of darkness, free from light and shadow, is the most precious security she can imagine. 

Riza places her hand on the doorknob of the first bedroom on the right side of the hallway, and then does their coded knock. Three raps, the first two consecutively and the last after a pause of four seconds. From inside, she hears the answering signal - two knocks on the wooden desk, the first louder than the second. 

Riza enters, locking the door behind her. She hears a soft snap, and a flame leaps to life. It’s quickly extinguished, burning just long enough to illuminate Roy’s face for an instant. Seeing him feels like coming home.

Roy crosses the room in a few quick strides, holding his arms out to her. Riza actually runs the rest of the way, throwing herself into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Roy,” she whispers against his skin, all the breath leaving her body in a ragged sigh. 

She feels his shoulders tense with concern, even as he holds her close, hugging her so tightly that she’s pulled to the tips of her toes. Everyone she loves most, from her teammates to Rebecca and Roy, has teased her about how reserved she is about expressing her emotions.  _ You even talk to Hayate like he’s a colleague,  _ Havoc had complained once.  _ I’ve never seen a woman who doesn’t gush and do baby talk for her dog! _

_ If Hayate was a colleague and in the office right now, he’d still get more work done than you and the Colonel,  _ Riza had replied, straight-faced. Breda and Fuery burst out laughing behind her, Falman smiled into his coffee mug, and Havoc and Colonel Mustang both began a tirade of indignant protests. 

Thinking about them and their time together in the East City office is too painful. Riza buries that memory, just like she’s buried so many others. She closes her eyes, gripping the lapels of Roy’s coat, resting her head against his chest. 

“How are you?” Roy asks, rubbing gentle circles against the small of her back.

“Fine,” Riza says automatically. He must be worried sick about all of them, separated to the four corners of Amestris. She doesn’t need to add to his burden. “How are you doing?” 

She can’t see him well in the dark, but after all these years, she can tell that Roy is giving her a flatly skeptical look. “Just because you’re technically no longer my subordinate,” he says, taking her hand and leading her to the bed, “does not mean that you can lie to my face. We’ll try again.”

They sit next to one another, shoulder to shoulder, legs pressing together from hip to knee, and Riza leans forward - wilts - resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m…” she begins, haltingly.  _ Coping,  _ she wants to say, because that is her job. She is the glue that holds the unit together. Stoic, unruffled, no matter what crisis they’re facing. Everyone else can panic or get angry and frustrated, but not her.  _ Don’t worry, everyone, Hawkeye’s got this under control.  _ She can’t count the amount of times her teammates have said that. Roy has enough on his mind. She should be brave for him. 

“...Struggling,” Riza whispers. Her throat sticks. She can’t bring herself to say more.

Roy rubs her back. “Talk to me,” he says.

He waits patiently, and Riza puts her head in her hands. After so many weeks, so many months (and in many ways, a lifetime) of trying to suppress her feelings and focus on the more important issues at hand, it’s difficult to speak about them.

“Every day, I expect to hear the news that you’ve been found dead,” she finally says, her voice muffled. “Shot. Like Maes. Unknown perpetrator. I don’t know when the news is going to come, but every part of me is constantly alert and waiting for it. I expect to hear that Fuery’s been killed in action in Fotset. I expect that Breda or Falman or Havoc have been hurt or killed in some sort of mysterious  _ accident _ . I have the same fears for Rebecca, and Edward and Alphonse. That these monsters will harm them, just to send a message to you, and to the rest of us.”

Roy makes a soft, pained noise in the back of his throat. She knows, without looking at him, that she’s voiced the same fears he struggles with every moment of every day. 

“The constant waiting, the fear…” Riza rakes her fingers through her hair. The pain of her fingernails scratching against her scalp grounds her. “It’s breaking me. It’s eating me inside. I’ve never been this afraid, for this long, in my entire life. It’s…” She struggles to find the right words. “It’s relentless. There isn’t a moment of respite. I can’t sleep and I can barely eat.” 

“I know,” Roy murmurs, putting his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Riza leans against him, taking a deep, steadying breath. “And I miss you all so much.” She wipes at her eyes, embarrassed at herself. She and Roy used to occasionally trade dry jokes about being parent figures to the unit, but those had always hit a little too close to home. Roy has his aunt and his foster sisters, but the unit, Rebecca, and Hayate are the only family she has. 

Roy puts his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her to look at him. “I’ll fix this,” he says firmly. “I’ll make everything right again, the way it was when we were all back in East City together.”

His words take her back to their old office. Fuery’s desk covered in radios and wires, Falman’s perfectly organized, Breda’s in absolute disarray, Havoc folding a memo into a paper airplane at his desk and actually throwing it over at Breda’s like a primary schooler passing notes.

Havoc. Riza can’t help but think of Havoc’s injury, and the fact that when they’re all together again at their new office in Central, they’ll be minus one member. There’s sudden anguish in Roy’s eyes, and she knows that the same realization has hit him. 

Riza holds her arms out to him wordlessly, and he embraces her. She holds him for a long while, and when he pulls back and sits up straight, his eyes are red, but dry. “Is there anything I can do to keep you safe?” he asks. “First Maes, then Havoc - I can’t take any more of this. I couldn’t do anything to protect them, but I’ve learned from my failures. I’ll do anything to protect you.” 

Riza cups his face in one hand. “All that we can do to keep  _ both  _ of us safe is continue being very careful. Pride can watch me, and it can listen to me, but it can’t understand our codes. It doesn’t know that I told you about its true nature, and it doesn’t know that our conversation earlier this week was about meeting here tonight.” 

“You wanted to wait until a cloudy night to meet, and you wanted all the lights on this hallway turned off,” Roy says. “It moves with the shadows, I presume.” 

“Yes.” Riza wipes her eyes again, furious with herself for the lapse. She’s always had a good handle on her emotions, but ever since Maes’s murder and the events that have unfolded since, she’s struggled more and more with keeping them under control. “He said he’d be watching me from the shadows.” 

Roy takes her hand, intertwining their fingers together. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine such an invasion.” 

Riza can’t hold back a bitter laugh at her own expense. “It gives a new meaning to the phrase  _ being afraid of one’s own shadow. _ ” 

“Riza--”

“I am,” she says, leaning against him again. “I’ve never been so conscious of shadows. My own. Others. The shadows thrown by buildings, streetlights, furniture… They’re everywhere.” Riza tilts her head back, blinking hard. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing it.”

“You’re not,” Roy says bracingly. “Never doubt yourself like that. You’re being cautious. Justifiably so.”

“I don’t even care that much about myself,” Riza admits, wrapping her arms around herself, and she blinks back the stupid stinging in her eyes. “I’m afraid that you’ll be walking out of Central Command and the shadows will grab you and throw you down the stairs and break your neck. Every time I come home, I’m afraid that I’m going to find Hayate lying there, broken. I can’t shoot a shadow, Roy. I can’t protect either one of you from the shadows.” Despite her best efforts, her voice cracks, and she wipes at her eyes angrily. 

Roy puts his arms around her shoulders again. “We’ll be fine,” he says firmly. “Pride claimed it would only harm us if you revealed its secret or worked against it. We’ll continue to be as discreet as possible, and no harm will come to either of us.”

Riza sniffles, unconvinced, and Roy draws her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. “This time next year, all of this will be over,” he vows. “The shadows will just be shadows again. You’ll never have to be this afraid again. I promise.”

She inhales, taking in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Spice and citrus, the same scent he’s favored since he had been seventeen. It takes her back to being fourteen, standing side-by-side and washing dishes with him in the old Hawkeye manor, talking about the books they had read for their little book club. 

“I’ve missed you,” Riza says. “Being able to see you after hours, obviously, but also working with you.” 

“I’ve missed you too, in and out of work. I feel like I’ve lost one of my senses.” Roy tilts her face up to his, surveying her closely in the dark. “You feel thinner,” he says, frowning. “And you look so exhausted.”

“And you’ve lost your touch at sweet-talking the ladies,” Riza says wryly. It feels like an eternity since she’s made a joke. 

“I know that you’re stressed, but you need to take better care of yourself. I need you strong and healthy. We all do.” Roy kisses her brow. “That’s an order, Lieutenant Hawkeye. From your commander and your fiance. I expect you to take it seriously.”

Riza stills, taken aback. They have always been on the same page about their relationship; that once Roy becomes Fuhrer and repeals the anti-fraternization laws, they can finally make their commitment to one another official. But he had never proposed to her, as such, not in the formal way that people do. 

Roy sighs, reading the look on her face. “Don’t tell me I’ve surprised you.” 

“You haven’t,” Riza says, a bit defensively. “It’s just that you’ve never said it that way before.”

Roy reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “One order from the Fuhrer was enough to separate us,” he says quietly. “I never want you and I to be put in a position like this again. I want us to have the guarantee that no matter what happens professionally, nothing can separate us in our personal lives.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Riza rests her head against his shoulder.  _ My fiance,  _ she thinks, and she smiles a small smile, for the first time in weeks. 

-

Riza bides her time until spring, but she isn’t idle. She communicates discreetly with Rebecca, and with Breda, Falman, and Fuery. First, she helps coordinate Breda and Fuery going AWOL from their posts, and then deserts her own.

Riza gets one night alone with Hayate in the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Central, before Breda and Fuery are due to join her. Roy risks a visit and brings her a fancy dinner. They eat it on the hard stone floor of the warehouse, leaning against a large, empty supply crate. He puts an arm around her and they quietly discuss how one week from now, their lives will be completely different. 

Despite Riza’s nerves, and due to the meticulous planning involved, the mission unfolds more or less exactly as they had envisioned it. At least, until the return to the Third Laboratory, to the room where Roy had destroyed the homunculus Lust. The vast white room swarms from wall to wall with hideous alabaster beasts, snarling and snapping and moving with steady, relentless energy, and Riza can’t contain her frustration when Edward informs her that of  _ course  _ bullets aren’t enough to kill them. 

The Colonel seems unfazed by their enemy. He lifts a hand impassively and snaps his fingers. Torrents of flame roar through the room, perfectly arcing around Edward and his allies, while incinerating the other creatures. Edward seems shaken by it, and Riza can’t help but flash back to Ishval, to Roy using the same maneuver to scorch homes and the Ishvalans fleeing them, while leaving the Amestris forces on the streets intact. 

All of her memories of Ishval vanish when another homunculus, one Edward calls Envy, appears. Riza watches with bated breath, tense and ready to shoot, as the Colonel interrogates Envy about Maes’s murder. Even knowing that Envy can take on the faces of others doesn’t dull her revulsion at seeing the thing assume the form of Gracia Hughes. Envy taunts them about how easy it had been to kill Maes while wearing this form, and Riza looks away, shaken. If it ever took on Roy’s form, would she be able to shoot without a moment’s hesitation? Maes hadn’t, and that had cost him his life. 

The Colonel engages Envy in combat, ordering Edward and the others to move forward. They do, disappearing through the double doors and into the dark hallway beyond. Riza watches in trepidation as the homunculus transforms into a being far more massive and monstrous than Gluttony had been.

“Keep your distance, Lieutenant.” The Colonel extends an arm, as if to stop her from advancing on the homunculus. He stares it down, utterly fearless, unaffected by the threats Envy snarls at him. One snap of his fingers sends the gargantuan homunculus staggering back, howling with agony. “What does it feel like to have the fluid of your eyes boil?” he asks coldly. “I imagine it might sting a little.”

The Colonel strikes again, engulfing Envy in flames. It lashes out with its tail, slamming against the hard ceiling, sending stone flying. Riza throws up her arms to shield herself, and she can see Envy shrink back into its original humanoid form, fleeing into the darkness of the tunnels.

“You coward!” Roy shouts, setting off in pursuit of the homunculus. He moves without a moment’s hesitation, and Riza calls after him, panic rising within her at the thought of Roy alone in those dark hallways with Envy. 

“Stay back, Lieutenant!” he orders, throwing her one glance over his shoulder before he disappears into the shadows. “I’ll take care of him myself!”

Riza manages to wait a few torturous minutes, listening to the echoes of Envy’s screams and Roy’s flames, before plunging into the darkness after them. That isn’t an order she can follow. 

It isn’t one single hallway beyond the stone double doors, as she had thought. It’s an entire system of interconnected, mazelike corridors, dimly lit with pale yellow lights. The dim illumination is enough to throw shadows, but she can’t think of that now. She had planned on following the sound of combat, but Envy’s shrieking and the roars of Roy’s flames create confusing echoes. Riza stalks the hallway system, gun at the ready, muscles tense, nerves worn thin from strain. Adrenaline floods her system, but she forces herself to remain calm. As much as it worries her to see it, the Colonel has completely lost his composure, so it’s her job to keep a cool head. 

Riza hears the footsteps behind hers, faint and soft, and she ducks into a side hallway at once. The footsteps come closer, and closer still, and Riza lifts her gun, taking aim--

And finds herself staring up at the Colonel. 

They both freeze, startled, and Roy steps down from his combat stance. “I told you to stay behind, Lieutenant,” he says, his displeasure evident.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just sit there, sir,” Riza says levelly, rising to her feet. “Where’s Envy?” 

“He outran me. This place is like a labyrinth.” Roy looks back at her. “Well, you might as well help me kill him, now that you’re here. Stay right by my side, Lieutenant.”

He continues on, and Riza looks after him, before following in his footsteps. 

_ Stay right by my side, Lieutenant.  _

Roy would never say that. He knows that it’s her job to watch his back. Literally. She always moves a half-step to two steps behind him. 

Riza cocks her pistol and aims it directly at the back of the impostor’s head. 

He stops. Looks over his shoulder at her with narrowed eyes. It is chilling to know that it isn’t really Roy, behind this form that looks so much like him. Envy lifts his hands wearily. “What are you doing, Lieutenant?” he asks, exasperated. “Do you know who your gun is pointed at?”

“Who?” Riza smirks. “Don’t make me laugh. When it’s just us, the Colonel calls me by my first name.” 

The ploy works brilliantly. Envy hisses, leaping away from her, casting the guise of Roy away like a discarded coat. “So you two are that close, are you?”

“I lied,” Riza says impassively, and shoots him in the chest. “But it was still very nice of you to fall for it, Envy. And now you can do me the favor of dying.”

She shoots him repeatedly, emptying both pistols into him at center mass, shooting him with her rifle in the kneecap and at center mass again. The impact knocks him back, making him transform into the green freak he had been earlier. Before Riza can blink, he shoots a tentacled arm at her, grabbing her in a vice-like grip, lifting her up and slamming her against the stone floor so hard that all the breath leaves her body in a pained gasp. She barely hears him taunting her, telling her he’ll dump her at the Colonel’s feet like a rag.

A massive wall of flame thunders down the hallway, engulfing Envy. Even at this distance, she feels the heat on her skin. The green tendril crushing her dissolves into ash as Envy screams, a protracted, miserable howl. Riza hears footsteps again, and she calls out, even though she knows there’s no one else on earth who could have been responsible for what just happened.

The second of the strikes had weakened Envy. He barely drags himself up by the time Roy emerges from a side hallway. “What the hell are you doing to my Lieutenant?” he asks, and his voice is laden with menace -  _ real  _ menace, not anger or bluster - in a way that Riza has never heard before. It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up; makes her feel cold all over. 

Envy is afraid. Cowering before him. Roy glances over at her. “Don’t interfere, Lieutenant,” he says. The expression on his face, too, is foreign to her. “I told you I would take care of him myself.” 

The Colonel strikes again and again, scorching Envy with wall after wall of flames. Envy’s tortured howls echo in the hallway, and Riza watches, transfixed and horrified, as Envy chars as Lust had. Still, Roy doesn’t falter for an instant. His attacks just grow more rapid and erratic.

The screams and pleas. The ceaseless torrents of fire. The  _ snap. _ The hallway recedes, and she is in Ishval again, watching the Flame Alchemist destroy Ishvalan settlements and civilians. But he hadn’t relished it, then. He hadn’t been merciless. There had been sorrow and resignation on his face, then, not uncontrolled rage. When he noticed Ishvalans fleeing from the flames, he would let them run. It hadn’t been like this. Riza wants to weep. 

Envy collapses backwards, croaking terribly. Riza watches, numb, as a little green  _ thing  _ crawls from his head. It’s tiny, like a lizard, and utterly defenseless. It speaks in the voice of a child. She watches as the Colonel pins it beneath his boot, ignoring its sobs and pleas.  _ Please don’t. I don’t want to die.  _ How many times had she heard that in Ishval? 

Roy is utterly unmoved by the pleas. He prepares to strike, and Riza doesn’t realize she is moving until she’s on her feet, an arm’s length away from him. 

She doesn’t realize she has made a decision until she cocks her pistol and puts the gun to his head. 

He freezes, and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. He’s never spoken to her, to  _ anyone  _ on the unit, like that before. 

“That’s enough, Colonel.” Riza wills her voice to remain steady. “I’ll deal with him from here.”

Roy lowers his hand a fraction of an inch, but he doesn’t move to release Envy. “He’s as good as finished,” he says tightly. “Lower your weapon.”

Riza ignores the blood pounding in her ears; her heart hammering against her chest. “I can’t obey that. Put your hand down.” 

“Damn it!” The Colonel roars, lifting his hand to strike, electricity coursing through his fingertips, and Riza almost flinches. “I won’t ask again!” 

Her focus had narrowed in on him and Envy. She doesn’t realize that Edward is here until the ground surges beneath them, knocking Roy off balance, sending Envy flying through the air and into Edward’s hand. 

“Ah, Fullmetal,” the Colonel breathes, holding a hand towards him. “I’ll be taking that.” 

Riza sees Edward go pale, sees his hesitation, sees him refuse, even when the Colonel makes it an order, and she feels pride and fear surge within her in the same moment. He is so principled. But then the Colonel threatens Edward, actually  _ threatens  _ him and means it, and she shivers to see how far he’s fallen. 

“Colonel, I can’t let you kill Envy. That being said, I have no intention of letting him live,” Riza says, trying to appease him, trying to talk him down. “I’ll dispose of him.”

A shudder wracks Roy’s body, and she can see the electricity still sparking around him. “But I did it,” he says, his voice ragged. “I finally found him.”

“I know that! But still…” Riza can’t keep her hold on the gun from shaking. “You’re about to do something reckless. This will not help. Not your country, or your friends. This is pure hatred, and I will not let it take you. You’re better--” she bites back a sob, thinking of the Colonel she knows and loves more than anything. Kind and fair, and dedicated to protecting the people around him. “I know you’re better than that.” 

Roy trembles with the force it takes him to restrain himself. Finally, he relents, looking weary, shoulders slumping. “If you’re going to shoot me, then shoot me,” he says quietly, and Riza feels like she’s been slapped. “But after you’ve done that, Lieutenant, what will you do?”

She knows what the right answer should be. The one that he wants to hear. Live on and be the leader that he couldn’t. 

She tells him the truth, instead. That she has no intention of carrying on in life without him. That this fight will be her last. 

Her words leave him shaking, and the Colonel redirects his fire down the side hallway - sparing Envy and Edward. His arm falls to his side limply. “That can’t happen,” he says quietly. “I can’t afford to lose you. And you…” Roy turns to her, facing her directly for the first time. The rage that had twisted his features for so long is gone, replaced with only sorrow. 

“I’ve done it again,” he says, and Riza can see Ishval in his dark eyes, and the night last year that they never speak of. When held her as she sobbed about how she had wanted their child. “I’ve hurt you. How foolish can one man be?”

Her breath catches in her throat at the memories, and Roy walks toward her, placing his gloved hand on hers. Her hand shakes at the contact, and he gently lowers her gun. “Please forgive me.” 

He sits at her feet, looking up at her, and this time, Riza can’t hold back her small, tearful gasp. She sinks to her knees in front of him, feeling like a marionette with the strings cut. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, and Riza leans forward, putting her hand on his. 

-

They continue down the hallways, afterwards, for some time. Riza tries to relax, find the calm center she needs in order to prepare for any combat to come, but the tension from the encounter with the Colonel won’t leave her body. Her shoulders are painfully tense and it takes a concerted effort to keep from trembling. 

The second nightmare comes too soon. The stone chamber, the short doctor with spectacles and a gleaming golden tooth, the failed Fuhrers, their eyes glowing red, each of them holding a sword. The fight is grueling, but at least these opponents fall in the face of her bullets, and Riza takes solace in that. 

It is short-lived. The doctor activates his terrible alchemical circle, sparking vicious blue lightning all over the room. An eye opens on the ground beneath them, and shadowy hands so much like Pride’s drag Edward in. The failed Fuhrers attack again, and this time, one of them rushes directly at her. Riza aims at him and fires, landing a few good shots, but then her gun misfires, and she gasps, taken by surprise. 

The Fuhrer is on her, knocking her to the floor and pinning her with one arm across her neck. The impact stuns her, and Riza can barely breathe. She’s vaguely aware of Roy shouting at them to let her go, but then two of them have trapped him too, with Scar similarly restrained. 

The Fuhrer holding her wrenches her up from the ground, putting her in a headlock. Riza tries to squirm free, but it’s no use. The doctor standing in the middle of the circle claps, looking satisfied. “All right, good!” he cries. “Just hold him there. Colonel Mustang, I’m afraid we’re out of time. At this point, you have no choice but to cooperate with us. I would like you to perform some human transmutation and open a portal for me.”

He says it so casually, as if it isn’t something unholy. “Are you serious?” Roy asks disbelievingly, echoing her thoughts. 

“It doesn’t matter who. A parent you’ve lost? A lover, a friend? Or that man you were so close to?” The doctor rests a finger against his head, parodying thoughtfulness. “What was his name again? Hughes, right? You’ll do just fine. I’ll get things set up for you just over here.”

“You mean I’m a sacrifice?”

Even in the Fuhrer’s tight grip, Riza looks at him sharply, redoubling her efforts to get free. She doesn’t like the sound of that at all. The Fuhrer just holds her tighter, sending black spots spiraling into her vision, and she can barely follow Roy’s conversation with the other man. The doctor says that they have run out of time, and he looks at her - at the Fuhrer holding her. 

Riza’s vision explodes with the red splatter of blood. Her throat is on fire, and gushing dampness soaks down her chest.

She sees the horrified look on Roy’s face before she collapses to the ground. Vaguely, she registers the spreading pool of red underneath her, and Roy’s panicked cries, and the rough scraping of the stone as she’s dragged across the floor, thrown into the transmutation circle. Her limbs feel heavy, but Riza clamps a shaking hand to her neck, trying her best to staunch the flow of blood. Her hand is wet and slick with blood. So much blood. 

“Would you like to transmute her after she dies?” The doctor asks, almost solicitously. “That would be acceptable.” 

“I’m not going to die,” Riza manages. Every word worsens the pain. Her head swims. She’s standing back in the tunnel with Roy, Hayate, Fuery, and Breda. “I’m under strict orders not to die.” 

The doctor keeps talking, even as her strength fades. Riza forces her eyes open. She can barely see Roy. All she can see is red, and something in the ceiling…

“Colonel, please,” she says hoarsely, glancing upwards, willing him to understand. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t sacrifice everything for my sake.” 

And he does understand. Riza closes her eyes, contented, the noises around her of conversation and combat fading to a dull roar. The next thing she’s aware of is being hauled off the ground, Roy’s arms around her as he demands for her to stay with him, to open her eyes. As hard as she tries, she can’t. 

She feels the crackle and heat of alchemy around her, and then Roy picking her up again, hugging her tight. There’s a girl’s voice, faintly familiar. “I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but she still needs to see a doctor.”

“Thank you,” Roy says emphatically. “I owe you one.”

This time, she can open her eyes, and Riza blinks up at him, holding her close, pale and concerned. Just the sight of him makes her smile a little, as it has since she was a girl of fourteen. “Colonel,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t speak,” he instructs, drawing her against his chest. She can feel the beat of his heart, much faster than usual. “Just rest now.”

“You understood my signal,” she breathes. “I’m not sure how, but I’m glad.” 

Roy smiles. “We’ve been together long enough,” he says. “And besides, I know that glare. It means,  _ use human transmutation, and I’ll shoot you. _ ”

The past hour has been hell on earth, and she still feels weak and cold, but the warmth in his voice gives her strength. Riza rests her head against him and smiles. 

-

That fleeting sense of comfort and security taunts her when Fuhrer Bradley appears, when Pride appears. When Bradley overpowers Roy and knocks him into the transmutation circle and pins him down, driving his twin swords into Roy’s palms, making him cry out in pain as he lies there, helpless.

Pride and Bradley force him to open the portal, while she’s held back, utterly powerless to help him. When the dust settles, Roy is gone, and something inside Riza shatters. 

-

After an agonizingly long time, he returns to her, elevated from the subterranean depths by a massive pillar of stone, and supported by a woman with dark braids. “Look after Mustang,” the woman - Izumi - says to her husband. The man leads Roy off the pillar, and the Colonel’s movements are halting and tentative. He sinks to his knees as soon as he’s back on solid ground.

Riza wants to throw her arms around him, but they’re surrounded by people, and there’s still work to be done. “Colonel, are you injured?” she asks, crouching in front of him, trying to assess his condition. Aside from his hands, he seems unhurt, but he’s moving so strangely, and there’s something about his eyes… “What’s wrong?” 

“My sight is gone,” he says, and Riza hears her own hastily suppressed inhalation of shock echoed by the Briggs soldiers behind her. “Lieutenant, how are your injuries?”

Even now, he thinks about her first. “Don’t think about me,” Riza manages, her voice faltering. For an instant, she forgets about the others, and reaches toward him. “Just worry about yourself for once.”

“Lieutenant,” the Colonel repeats, lowering his hand from his sightless eyes. “Can you still fight?” 

His intentions dawn on her then, and Riza nods resolutely. “Yes, sir.” 

-

They have trained for joint combat under many conditions, but never with the condition of one of them working blind. Riza resolves to revise the training protocol for their unit at the earliest possible opportunity. Roy throws an arm around her shoulder for support, and Riza places a hand on his chest to keep him steady, and she acts as his eyes, telling him where to aim his flames and at what range, telling him when to dodge. Their system isn’t perfect yet, but they can refine the technique in the future, because they do have a future. They aren’t dying in the subterrain under Central, with one of her bullets in Roy’s head or with her bleeding out on the floor of that stone chamber. Even if they die now, they’ll die together, standing in the sun. 

As the battle rages, strangely, the fear that had gripped her in the tunnels recedes. Despite her physical weakness and Roy’s condition, she almost feels strong again. 

-

Riza manages to stay standing until they confirm Alphonse’s safe return. She and the Colonel make their way to Alphonse, and she gently tugs Roy’s coat from his shoulders, handing it to Edward. Edward flashes her a quick, grateful smile and drapes the coat over Al’s impossibly tiny, frail form. 

“Come on, Lieutenant,” the Colonel breathes, for just the two of them to hear. “I can feel you shaking. You need to get medical attention.”

“I’m fine,” Riza insists, scanning the crowd. “I want to find Rebecca and the unit. I need to make sure they’re okay.”

“I’ll work with Major Armstrong to find them for you. We need to get you to Dr. Knox or to a medic tent first.” Roy scans the crowd, and sighs his frustration. “Damn it,” he says. “I wish I could see.”

The words tear at her, and Riza holds him tighter. The large crowd looks even larger, since she’s starting to see double, and she can’t spot the distinct white of a medic tent. She thinks she can make out Dr. Knox in the distance, though, or maybe it’s Dr. Marcoh, and she can hear whoever it is calling out to her, sounding worried. “Lieutenant Hawkeye, Colonel Mustang!”

With effort, she lifts a hand in greeting. It is Dr. Knox, right in front of her now. “What happened?” he demands. “You’re covered in blood. Is the Colonel injured too?” 

Riza opens her mouth to tell him, but as hard as she tries, no sound comes out. Her eyelids flutter, her vision goes black, and she collapses right into the startled doctor’s arms. 

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The final chapter/epilogue will be posted later this week. :)


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everybody who left kudos/comments on the previous chapter!

Riza’s return to consciousness is a slow one. 

Her hearing comes back first. She takes in the steady beeping noise coming from somewhere next to her. The sound is too familiar, after what had happened to Roy and Havoc last year. Her eyelids feel heavy and leaden, and she struggles to lift them. Riza finally manages to open her eyes, and she blinks blearily around at her surroundings. Dark room. Lit-up machines at her side. Rebecca curled up on the armchair beside her, dozing. 

Her throat feels like it’s on fire. The skin there itches, but when Riza gropes at her neck, the thick layer of bandages prevents her from being able to actually touch the skin. Her throat and mouth feel bone-dry, too, and her gaze focuses on the cup of water sitting at the table beside her bed.

Riza reaches for the cup and promptly knocks it over. She curses her stiff muscles, as Rebecca sits up with a start, looking around wildly.

“Sorry,” Riza manages. Her voice is hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

Rebecca’s eyes light up. “You’re finally awake!” she exclaims, leaning forward and grabbing both of Riza’s hands, squeezing them excitedly. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m not supposed to do anything that makes you move your neck.”

Riza squeezes Rebecca’s hands in return. “Finally?” she asks, ignoring the ache in her throat when she speaks. “How long have I been out? Where’s the Colonel?”

Rebecca refills the cup with water from the room’s sink and brings it back to her. “The nurses said to take it slow to avoid choking,” she advises. “You’ve been out for two days. Mustang is down the hall, and the Elric brothers are too. Mustang has been demanding that you be moved into his room, but the nurses wouldn’t do it until they got your consent first. It’s not standard practice to have co-ed rooms in here.”

“Two days?” Riza winces at the words, lifting a hand to her throat. “What’s been going on? Tell me everything, please.” 

“The plan worked,” Rebecca says succinctly. “Everyone thinks that we were all trying to save Amestris.” She holds up a finger as she makes each point, addressing all of Riza’s questions before she can ask them. “Everyone in your unit’s okay, including Mustang and Alphonse. Fuery’s had Black Hayate with him. Lieutenant General Grumman met with Mustang after everything was over. As soon as they were out of their meeting, it was declared that Grumman is now  _ Fuhrer  _ Grumman, and your unit is shipping out to Ishval to work on rebuilding the region.” 

Riza lowers her head, processing the influx of information. Roy had given up the chance to become Fuhrer - undoubtedly, because of his vision. “Rebuilding Ishval…” She blinks away the sudden tears that spring to her eyes at the mention of that place. “That’s very appropriate. It’s the best path for us to take.”

“Are you going to be okay going back?” Rebecca asks quietly. “I know it was a bad time for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Riza says, meeting her friend’s gaze. “It has to be done, and I want to be as involved with the effort as I can be. But for now…” She looks longingly at the bathroom in the corner of the room. “Did the nurses say that it’s all right for me to get up? I need a shower.”

Getting the nurses at Central General Hospital to sign off on something as simple as taking a shower is an ordeal. They’re afraid that she will faint, and they don’t want running water to loosen the extensive bandaging around her neck. They suggest a sponge bath, which Riza flatly refuses. Not only is she not an infant, but the thought of anyone seeing her undressed is unacceptable. She had guarded her privacy carefully during the years of close quarters in the military academy and in Ishval. It’s bad enough that at least one nurse must have seen her back while getting her out of her clothing and into the blue hospital gown she’s wearing. 

Finally, the nurses wrap her neck bandages in layers of plastic while Rebecca looks on sympathetically. “I’ll be right outside,” Rebecca calls. “In case you feel faint or anything.”

Riza moves through the routine of the bathroom, brushing her teeth, undressing, and getting into the shower mechanically. She’s still struggling to comprehend Rebecca’s words, and what they mean for all of their futures. She had asked the nurses about Roy while they had been shower-proofing her, explaining her role as his adjutant, and they had given her a run-down of his injuries. Extensive nerve damage to both hands, in addition to the obvious flesh wounds. Bruised ribs. And, of course, total loss of vision. 

Riza rubs the bar of harsh soap against her skin and she’s back in the subterrain underneath Central, looking on in helpless horror as Bradley impales Roy’s hands, driving the point of each of his swords right into the center of his palms. Her breath catches in her throat, and she forces the memory away. It goes, and it’s replaced with one of the failed Fuhrer holding her tight, then the searing, unbelievable pain of his sword ripping her throat open. 

Riza braces both of her hands against the wall of the tiny shower stall, fighting the dark spots creeping into her vision. The hot water pours over her, washing the soap from her skin and the shampoo from her hair, making her eyes sting. She cries soundlessly until the water goes cold. It may be over now, it may be behind them, but she knows that what happened will haunt her for years to come. 

She emerges from the shower, feeling clean but hollow. Rebecca rises from the armchair and comes over, wrapping her favorite pink shawl over her shoulders. It smells like home, like Hayate’s shampooed fur and the vanilla candle she used to burn in the evenings. “Thanks,” Riza murmurs, and she draws the shawl closer around her. 

Rebecca gives her a long look, taking in her reddened eyes. “Come on. I’ll show you where they’re keeping Mustang.”

Roy’s room is just a few doors from hers. Rebecca leaves her at the door, saying that she’s going to go call Fuery to ask him if he can sneak Hayate in. Riza knocks on the door, using their coded knock out of habit. “Colonel?” she asks. “It’s Hawkeye.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Roy’s voice, sounding almost uncertain. “Come in.”

Riza enters, closing the door behind her. Roy stands near the darkened window, one heavily bandaged hand braced on the wall for support. He turns to face her, and he doesn’t look directly at her. He moves like he’s about to start toward her, and she crosses the room in a few quick strides, ignoring how the fast movement makes her a little lightheaded. She forgets propriety; forgets the nurses doing their rounds and moving through the hallways just outside the room. Her entire world narrows to just Roy, standing in front of the window. 

She wraps her arms around him, mindful of his bruised ribs; buries her head in the hollow of his neck and breathes in, taking comfort from his solid presence. Roy holds her close, careful not to jostle her neck. “Is this all right?” he breathes, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” Riza says, closing her eyes. “Don’t let go.” 

They hold each other for a long time. Riza keeps her eyes closed, unable to speak, focusing on the steady, strong beat of his heart. She feels the hitch in Roy’s breath, the way it had when he had clung to her after she had been wounded. Despite his own injuries, he holds her just as tightly now as he had after her neck had been healed. 

Finally, they pull back. Riza rests her hand on his face, cupping his cheek with her palm, feeling the rasp of unshaven skin against her hand. “This changes nothing,” she says deliberately. “Professionally or personally. Do you understand that?”

Roy swallows hard. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Riza says, at once. “I’ll be your eyes. Always.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask.” 

They sit next to one another on his bed, hand-in-bandaged-hand, and lapse into silence. Riza waits patiently. Roy runs his thumb over her knuckles, the movement jerky and halting, and she remembers how he would effortlessly twirl pens through his fingers as he sat at his desk. 

“Falman went to the library and found a book about adapting to disability,” he finally says. “He read the section on blindness there and then recited a few chapters back to me earlier today.”

Riza smiles. “That was kind of him.”

Roy nods absentmindedly. “I kept thinking about the smallest things. How I’ll get dressed in the morning. How I can write and read. We learned that I can keep track of my clothing using buttons of different shapes. The book suggested that the buttons can be used to match items, or a certain shape of button can represent a color of a shirt - dark blue, black, green, and so on. The button could be sewn in the inside hem of the shirt, somewhere easy for me to feel.”

“Interesting.” Riza considers it. “Regarding writing, you could get more familiar with a typewriter, to the point where you can touch-type reports. With reading, you could have a reader, and I’m sure Falman’s book mentioned the raised Amestrian script.” 

“Yes. There’s a solution to almost every problem.” Roy squeezes her hand, and goes quiet again. “I just wish I could see you,” he admits, after a long while. “Now that’s the only thing that I keep dwelling on. I wish I had looked at you more, when I could.”

There’s nothing she can say to console him, because she would miss that just as terribly, if she lost her vision. Just looking at him gives her comfort, strength, and direction. Riza swallows over the tightness in her throat, and lifts his hand to her cheek. “Don’t let yourself think about that,” she says bracingly. “Once these bandages are off, you’ll be able to feel when I smile. You can touch me. And you know me so well that you’ll always know exactly what I’m feeling by the tone of my voice.”

Roy actually laughs. It’s brief, but it’s genuine, and it’s the best sound she’s heard in a long while. “That’s true.” The happiness fades from his face too quickly, and is replaced with a frown. “I assume that Catalina told you about my talk with Grumman?”

Riza inclines her head. “She did.”

“We agreed that he will serve as Fuhrer for five years, before holding an election for the position. We figured that five years would give us enough time to make meaningful progress in Ishval, and introduce the idea of a democratic election process and a proper government to Amestris. It will also give me time to become fully accustomed to…” Roy gestures at his face somewhat bitterly. “All of this.”

Riza rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s a solid plan. I know it must have been hard for you, but it was the right decision.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy says, the words barely audible. 

“What?” Riza asks, nonplussed. “Why?” 

Roy rubs the back of his neck, wincing at how the movement pulls at his injured ribs. “This puts our plans on hold for another five years, at least,” he says. “Our personal plans for the future, I mean. And we’ve waited - you’ve waited - long enough already. I feel like I’ve let you down again.”

“You’ve never let me down,” Riza says firmly. 

“Really?” A bitter shadow flickers across his expression. “Not even in the tunnels, with Envy? Not even…”

Roy trails off, and her fingers tighten on his shoulder at the memories. It takes a conscious effort to relax her grip. “Not even then,” Riza says. “I don’t hold any of those things against you. We’ve all made mistakes. We’ve all acted in ways that we’ve regretted later. We’ve all done things that we wished we hadn’t. That’s what makes us human.” 

Roy considers her words, still appearing unconvinced. “I wouldn’t lie to spare your feelings,” Riza says, releasing his shoulder. 

Roy sighs. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

“Then please believe me when I say that you have nothing to be concerned about on that front.” Roy still looks skeptical, and Riza nudges him gently. “I’ve heard it’s good to have a long engagement, anyway.”

A small, reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. The movement pulls uncomfortably at her bandaged neck, but Riza rests her head against his shoulder. “I love you,” she says. “I’ve loved you for almost half of my life. Waiting a few more years makes no difference.” 

“I love you too. More than anything.” Roy places a hand on her back. “I was so afraid that I was going to lose you,” he says quietly. “I’ve never felt fear like that before.” 

“I told you once before that you would never lose me.” Riza nestles against him again. “Tell me about Ishval,” she says, and Roy begins to tell her the plan.

-

The nurses move her hospital bed into Roy’s room late that night, after Rebecca and Fuery come to visit, Hayate smuggled in one of Fuery’s canvas bags. “I can’t believe you asked them to put us in the same room,” Riza whispers, somewhat scandalized, after the nurses do another check of her blood pressure, change the bandages around Roy’s hands, and then leave for the night. “What happened to discretion?”

Roy leans back against his pillows and shrugs. “After what we’ve been through, I don’t care much about it.”

They stay up too late talking about the burgeoning plans for rebuilding Ishval, and still wake up just after sunrise in anticipation of the work to be done. One by one, Breda, Falman, and Fuery filter in as the morning goes on. They bring the books and reports Roy had requested, and discuss agriculture and infrastructure in Ishval. 

Then Dr. Knox and Dr. Marcoh arrive, bringing with them news of the Philosopher’s Stone and what that means for Roy and Havoc. The rest of the unit can hardly contain their excitement, especially when Breda gets off the phone with Havoc and says that Jean will be on the next train to Central, arriving the following morning. Roy seems cautiously optimistic, at best, and Riza remains wary. The nurses finally shoo everyone else out, later in the day -  _ this is a hospital, not Central Command -  _ and she rises, crossing the room to sit beside him. 

“There might not be sufficient energy remaining in the stone, after Marcoh uses it to heal Havoc’s legs,” Roy says. His arms are crossed, and he’s staring off into the middle distance. “I’m fine with that. I’m coming to terms with this life.” 

For an instant, Riza misses the way he would fix her and everyone else with that intense, perceptive look of his, whenever he felt like someone was being less than honest with him. She shoves the thought out of her mind immediately, resting a hand on his arm. “It’s all right to be hopeful,” she says, as much for herself as for him. “And it’s all right to be disappointed, if things don’t work out tomorrow.”

“As long as it works for Havoc. That’s what matters most.” Roy exhales slowly, closing his eyes. “It helps,” he says, at last, “to know that you and the team are with me, no matter what the outcome of tomorrow is.”

Riza takes his hand. “Always,” she says. “Always.”

-

The Philosopher’s Stone works for Havoc. 

The entire unit - Havoc supported with Falman and Breda’s arms around him - clusters close around the Colonel’s hospital bed after the excitement of Havoc’s healing finally subsides. They’re so close that Marcoh has to pointedly ask for some space, please, upon which everyone shuffles backward maybe one step. Riza lingers at her Colonel’s right side, maintaining outward calm and composure for everyone’s sake. Someone has to keep a cool head around here, after all. Her heart still beats so fast that she feels a little lightheaded.

There’s a bright, blinding flash of red light when Marcoh uses the stone. It is just as bright as it had been when he used it on Havoc, and that makes hope well up inside her. Riza watches, fingers curled into white-knuckled fists in the fabric of her robe, as Roy opens his eyes.

His dark eyes, the eyes she knows so well, clear and unclouded. He flinches back from the light streaming in from the window, throwing a hand up to his face as if he would protect himself from it, and she sees his eyes widen with realization.

Roy takes them all in in one stunned, amazed look. “Thank you,” he breathes, looking at Marcoh, but then his gaze lingers on her.  _ Seeing  _ her, and Riza’s own vision blurs with tears. She’s smiling so hard her face hurts. She doesn’t think she’s ever smiled like this before in her entire life, and part of her sighs at herself. So much for calm, composure, and keeping a cool head. Havoc is never going to let her hear the end of this. 

“Well, I think it’s time for some coffee,” Breda announces abruptly, slapping one hand down on Fuery’s shoulder and one hand on Havoc’s, making both of them wince. “We should treat the good doctor to lunch, too! Come on, come on…”

The unit vacates the hospital room in record speed, practically carrying Havoc and Dr. Marcoh out with them. 

“I’ve seen them vacate burning buildings slower than they moved just now,” Riza observes, discreetly wiping at her eyes. 

“At times like this, I remember that they’re not so bad.” Roy looks at her and smiles, wide and genuine like he hasn’t in more than a year. Unburdened, for the first time in so long. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he says thoughtfully. “How is that possible? It’s just been a week since I saw you last.” 

Riza leans into his touch, willing herself to stop beaming like a lovestruck schoolgirl and act more like the hardened soldier she is. “You’re a shameless flirt, Colonel.” 

“Only for you, Lieutenant.” Roy’s smile widens. “Riza,” he says. “I hope you realize you’re going to spend the rest of your life telling me to stop staring at you.” 

“Oh, I do,” Riza says. She takes a look at the closed door, decides to take the risk, and takes him by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss. 

-

They are released from the hospital two days later. Roy’s hands are still bandaged and their movement hasn’t quite returned to normal, and a thick ring of bandages still winds around Riza’s neck. The stitches underneath are nothing short of hideous. Despite the doctor’s skillful work, the wound had been long and jagged, and the nurses had murmured apologetically that there would be a “significant” scar when the stitches were taken out. Riza had considered the alternative, and merely shrugged, unfazed.

Tonight, she had left her hair down in an attempt to conceal some of the bandages, and laid a pearl necklace over them as well. The necklace and matching earrings had been a gift from Roy for her twenty-sixth birthday, and he smiles at seeing her wear it tonight. He looks strikingly handsome in his usual formal wear, and Riza smooths a self-conscious hand over the skirt of her silken dress, unused to the color - emerald green - or the rich fabric. To her surprise, the Fuhrer’s dinner invitation was addressed to her as well as Roy, and the letter had stressed that this would be a personal, rather than professional, occasion. 

Riza knocks on the heavy wooden door, two short, sharp raps, because Roy can’t. “Relax,” he says softly, resting a hand on the small of her back for a brief moment. “You look like you’re about to face a homunculus.”

Before Riza can remind him that it is still far too soon to make jokes about the Fuhrer of Amestris being a homunculus, the door swings open, bathing them in the warm light from the entryway. “Welcome, welcome,” Grumman exclaims, ushering them inside. He had eschewed his uniform for tonight’s dinner, in favor of a dark suit similar to the one Roy is wearing. He tells her she looks lovely and takes her coat, though she holds onto the amber-covered shawl necessary for shielding her shoulders and back. 

Riza glances around as they exchange pleasantries, and as the Fuhrer leads them to the sitting room. It’s been little more than a week, but Grumman has already made the Fuhrer’s residence his own, stripping away the decorations favored by the Bradleys and replacing them with his own pieces, all of which are considerably more eclectic. Bordering on chaotic, if she’s quite honest. 

Her attention lingers on a portrait hanging on the wall of the sitting room. The portrait captures a much younger Grumman - even younger than Roy is now - standing beside a beautiful woman with long blonde hair. They’re both so elegant, and there is something strangely familiar about the woman, something Riza can’t place. 

“What a lovely portrait,” she says. Roy glances over at it and doesn’t look away, and a shadow of a frown crosses his face. 

“Thank you,” Grumman says, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “My wife, Victoria.” 

He looks like he wants to say something more, but then a member of the kitchen staff comes in, giving him a small bow. “Dinner is ready, Fuhrer Grumman.”

Dinner is incredibly lavish, and they take their time enjoying the four courses, discussing the plans for Ishval, Grumman’s proposed reforms, and the logistics of implementing a democratic election system in Amestris. They return to the sitting room after dinner, and Grumman pours them all glasses of wine. Riza catches a glimpse of the bottle and smiles. “Chateau Lafite Rothschild,” she says. “My favorite.”

Grumman looks pleased. “You have good taste, Lieutenant. It’s a favorite of mine as well.”

Roy sniffs. “I think Mateaus Rose is much better.”

“With all due respect, your taste in wine is questionable, sir,” Riza says. Grumman bursts out laughing, and Roy looks adorably put out. 

They drink in comfortable silence, but Riza notes the way the Fuhrer’s fingers tighten around the stem of his wine glass, and the tension that creeps into his shoulders. She isn’t sure what to think. Grumman had seemed supportive of their vision for Ishval while they had discussed it over dinner, but could it be that he has some reservations, some second thoughts?

“There’s something I forgot to bring up,” he says. “Over dinner. With regards to my proposed reforms.”

“Oh?” Roy asks casually, and Riza sits up a little straighter.

Grumman clears his throat. “I plan on amending the anti-fraternization regulations around this time next year.”

Roy chokes on his wine. Riza shoots him a quick, warning look. “That’s an interesting choice, Fuhrer Grumman,” she comments, grateful for all the practice in maintaining her composure she’s had over her years of service. “I don’t believe those regulations have been altered in any way since they were originally instituted.”

“Yes, well.” Grumman straightens his bow tie. He looks a little flustered. “Every year, we have a significant number of perfectly good soldiers, soldiers with excellent performance records, resigning their commissions. For no reason other than they can no longer continue to serve, as a result of the romantic attachments they’ve formed. The military is losing precious talent and human resources to the civilian sector, resources we can ill afford to lose.”

“I see,” Roy replies, studying Grumman the way she’s seen him stare at complex alchemical formulae. 

“It makes sense,” Grumman says. He looks red in the face now, even though he’s only had two glasses of wine tonight. “It’s the only logical course of action.”

“Yes. Purely an attempt to retain soldiers and avoid losing them to the civilian sector.”

Riza remains still, aware of the undercurrents swirling around her. There is something that Grumman and Roy aren’t saying. 

Grumman heaves a sigh. “To be quite honest with you both, that’s not all,” he says, and his gaze remains on her for a moment. “There’s a little bit of a romantic in me.”

Roy runs a hand through his hair, messing up the impeccably slicked-back style. “All those years,” he says wonderingly, and looks at her. 

“Fuhrer Grumman, Colonel Mustang,” Riza says. She can’t read the expressions on either of their faces, and that is disconcerting. “Please let me know if there is context that I am missing.” 

Grumman says nothing. He rises from his armchair without a word, walks over to the massive bookshelf, and retrieves a leather-bound book. He returns to them and hands the book straight to her. “That should be sufficient explanation,” he says. His voice wavers a little, and suddenly, he sounds his age.

Riza opens the book.

She studies every page, every photograph. Grumman and his wife Victoria, and then Grumman, Victoria, and a little blonde baby girl, who grows up into a toddler, and...

The realization hits her on the third page, when Elizabeth Grumman must have been around four years old. Riza watches her mother grow with every turn of the page, from a child to a stunning young woman. The photographs end when Elizabeth is eighteen - at the age that Riza knows she had run away from home and married Berthold Hawkeye, becoming completely estranged from her family.

Riza closes the book and looks up at Fuhrer Grumman. Lieutenant General Grumman. Her grandfather. 

“I heard about your service in Ishval,” Grumman says, staring at the coffee table between them. He looks small, and sad. “The Hawk’s Eye. That, and your first name… I wondered. But I figured that Berthold must have had a niece, a cousin, who shared the surname. Then you showed up at East City Command, fresh out of the academy, the absolute image of your mother.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Riza asks quietly. 

Grumman shrugs, looking strangely defeated. “You would have had to be reassigned. Regulations wouldn’t have allowed you to serve under my command in East City. It would have been a lot of upheaval for you. And by then, this one had already chosen you to serve as his adjutant,” he adds, with a nod at Roy, who is listening intently. “I didn’t want to disrupt that, either.”

Riza closes her eyes, thinking of all the times she had encountered Grumman over her almost nine years at East City Command. Suddenly, she remembers their meeting in his office last year, the morning after Maes’s murder, when he had called her in to break the news in advance of the all-Eastern Command Center emergency briefing. She had been upset, and he had made her a cup of tea, and insisted that she have a biscuit. Tiny things, seen in a new light. She opens her eyes and looks at Grumman, and knows that he is remembering the same thing. 

“There have been more than enough rumors about you over the years, what with your connection to Mustang,” Grumman says. “I didn’t want to add to that. I thought I was protecting you. Please forgive me, Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

“There is nothing to forgive, sir,” Riza says, at once. “Your intentions were good. I just have so many questions...” She trails off, looking down at the photos of her mother as a child.

“As do I. Thankfully, we have time.” Grumman smiles. “Even though you’re leaving for Ishval soon. I’ll look forward to my visit there in autumn.” 

“Just so you know, he’s been telling me to marry his granddaughter and make her the First Lady of Amestris for the last eight years,” Roy says to her dryly. “Until today, I never suspected.”

“Fuhrer Grumman, sir,” Riza says, feeling strangely shy. “You don’t have to amend the regulations due to this. I don’t want anybody to find out about our connection and accuse you of favoritism.” 

“Nonsense,” Grumman huffs. “As I said earlier, there is an entirely valid reason to amend the regulations that goes beyond the two of you. Amending them will make me the most popular Fuhrer in history!” He smiles, and his eyes sparkle in a way that nearly takes Riza’s breath away for the momentary resemblance to her mother. “Besides, I have twenty-eight years of birthday presents to make up for, don’t I?” 

When they bid Grumman farewell, he claps Roy on the shoulder so hard he winces, and gives Riza a mock glare. “Don’t even think of saluting,” he warns. 

Riza takes his hand instead, squeezing it warmly between both of her own. “Good night, sir.” 

“I’m proud of you, Lieutenant,” Grumman says, before he releases her hand. “I’ve followed your career for all these years, and you have a lot to be proud of. I’m looking forward to seeing what you and your unit do in Ishval.” 

The night is cool and dark when they step outside, and Riza exhales a little shakily, drawing her coat closer around her. She had walked into the Fuhrer’s mansion at the beginning of the night, expecting a pleasant dinner and nothing more. Grumman had changed her life not once, but twice, over the course of three hours. 

Roy wraps an arm around her as they walk. This late at night and this far from Central Command, dressed in civilian clothes, they can afford to be a little more relaxed. And Riza supposes it helps that the Fuhrer is also her grandfather. “Are you all right?” Roy asks. “I can’t imagine finding out about a grandfather I never knew existed. Let alone it being the Fuhrer.” 

“I’m fine.” Riza says, a little wonderingly. “More than fine, actually. It feels good to know that I have more family outside of you and the unit and Rebecca.”

“Good.” Roy holds her close, his relief evident. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“After everything you and Rebecca have told me about Grumman over the years, I’m looking forward to properly getting to know him.” 

“I can’t believe I never saw a resemblance between the two of you,” Roy says ruefully. 

“You can’t be blamed. I never saw it myself.” Riza shakes her head, still somewhat stunned. “He only looks like my mother when he smiles. Something about the way his eyes shine, even though they aren’t the same color as hers were.”

“And I never knew her.” Roy squeezes her hand. “I’m glad that he’s planning on visiting Ishval soon, for more reasons than one.”

Riza nods resolutely. “We’ll have a lot of progress to show him.”

“Are you ready?” Roy asks. “For the fifteenth?” 

“I am, though I’m worried about how Hayate will handle the long train trip and car ride back to back. One good thing about never unpacking from the move from East City to here is that everything’s ready to be sent to Ishval.” Riza tilts her head up to the sky, looking at the stars. Looking up at the stars at night with Roy had been her single, meager comfort in Ishval; the single thing that had gotten her through the most hellish months of her life. Roy follows her gaze, and she knows he’s remembering the same thing.

“Do you remember the constellations there?” she asks. 

“I do. Especially the Summer Triangle. Deneb, Antlia, and Vega.” Roy glances down at her. “I’m glad that we can go back.”

“I am, too. It feels right.” Riza pauses, remembering the economic and cultural development plans they have been discussing over the past days. “In the medium-term economic and cultural development plan, we could consider establishing an observatory. The views of the night sky in Ishval are unparalleled. That would bring visitors and revenue in from across the country - especially in summer, when the nights are so temperate.” 

“Genius,” Roy says warmly. “If we want to think big with revenue, we could even advertise it as a tourist destination outside of Amestris. Like the Museum of Antiquities in Xing, or the Meteora in Creta.” 

Riza smiles up at him. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Speaking of summer, what do you think of planning our leave to come back to Central then? It’ll take some coordination with East City Command or Central, since of course our men will want to join us here. We can’t leave Scar and Miles to hold down the fort alone.”

It takes a moment for Riza to catch his meaning, and Roy smiles when she does. 

She thinks back to all the years of waiting. She thinks back to being twenty-one and envious of every couple who could go out in public openly, and twenty-four and envious of every couple who could fall asleep together and wake up together. She thinks back to being twenty-five and averting her eyes from wedding dresses in boutique windows. She thinks back to being twenty-seven and unable to look at mothers with their babies; parents with their young children. __

Riza thinks forward, to being twenty-nine and gathering in the courthouse in Central with their unit, Rebecca, Edward, Alphonse, Gracia and Elicia, Madame Christmas, and Grumman, by their sides. She thinks of Roy’s smile, and her hand in his, and what it will feel like to finally make their vows to one another official. She holds that image close to her heart, savoring it. 

“Summer would be perfect,” Riza says softly. 

Roy presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “It’s a date, Lieutenant.”

-

_ five years later _

-

Riza lets her hair down and puts on a pair of oversized dark glasses before she leaves the small office.

It had been a necessary precaution, but thankfully the street is empty, save for the unmarked black vehicle waiting in front of the office, its windows heavily tinted. Riza slips into the backseat, nodding gratefully at Florentin. “Thank you,” she says. “We can return to the Havoc residence first.” 

“Well?” Rebecca demands, practically bouncing in her seat, looking fit to burst. “What did Knox say?”

Riza takes a deep breath and nods once. 

Rebecca squeals at a volume that nearly bursts Riza’s eardrums. She smiles at her friend’s enthusiasm, returning Rebecca’s embrace.

“Aren’t you excited?” Rebecca asks, as soon as she pulls away. “When’s it going to be, winter?”

“I am,” Riza says, and in a rare moment of expressiveness - growing less rare, these days - she places her hand on Rebecca’s. “But I’m nervous, too.”

“Don’t be,” Rebecca reassures, at once. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m thirty-four, Rebecca.”

“So? Falman's wife was thirty-six. And she and their kid are perfectly healthy.”

Riza exhales slowly, and nods.

-

They drop Rebecca, who had been kind enough to wake up at five in the morning for the six o’clock appointment, off at home, before returning to the residence.

It is a modest, comfortable house on the outskirts of Central, and Riza loves it. It has a big backyard and front yard, all carefully guarded, and brightly flowering window boxes at every window. 

Sky is just inside the front door when she steps in - waiting for her, tail wagging, looking so much like Hayate that Riza’s breath catches in her throat for a moment. She bends over, stroking the dog’s head affectionately, feeling the soft fur underneath her hand. Sky is wonderful with children. She adores Rebecca and Jean’s little girl, and follows Lily everywhere she goes, much to her delight. 

The house smells like eggs and toast and cinnamon rolls, and Riza breathes in deeply. 

“Riza?” her husband calls, from the kitchen.

“Coming,” she calls back. For once, she doesn’t stop at the coat closet to remove her shoes and coat. 

They meet just outside of the kitchen. Roy’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and he looks at her, a question in his dark eyes. There’s hope there, and happiness, for an instant, just an instant, she’s back in her old apartment in East City, sitting next to Roy on the battered sofa, looking at him through eyes swollen with tears.

_ Next time, I promise you, it will be different.  _

“Yes,” Riza says, and she sees her own joy reflected on his face. Roy hugs her tightly, and she leans into him, closes her eyes, and smiles. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everybody who has read this, and taken the time to leave your comments and kudos - thank you so much. I've been furloughed for the past two months, and writing this gave me a sense of joy and purpose. It was wonderful to share it and know that other people enjoyed it. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed the final chapter. <3


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